Atonement
by T. Ward
Summary: After the war Hermione Granger and Bellatrix Lestrange must both deal with the consequences of what has happened to their world and try to make the best of what it has done to them.
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Some notes before we begin:  
This story will likely be really long. And slow-moving.  
It will be completely canon-compliant as far as the novels go up until the Battle of Hogwarts, at which point there are some slight deviations. Those consist of keeping some people alive for the purposes of this story. The epilogue is irrelevant.  
Rating is subject to change.  
As for warnings, I will try to warn as things come up.**

**_Ninja edit: As a reviewer has helpfully supplied, present tense is perhaps not ideal for this story. I have been on the fence with this, writing some chapters in present tense and others in past. I figured it would work best for the first arc to have it in present tense, lending an air of 'snapshot moment' to the scenes. As I said, I've been on the fence with that decision and I'm now reconsidering it and editing chapters to past tense. Thank you for your feedback, whoever you are. I agree with you. That said, a grammatically satisfying edit will likely take a while, though I've done some fast and loose editing of the early chapters already. Please feel free to give me a heads up on anything else that pulls you out of the story/makes your eyeballs bleed :)  
_**

**Chapter 1 **

_May 3 1998_

'I think I've had enough adventure for a lifetime'  
- Harry Potter, 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'

Hermione and Ron put their arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. 'Right you are, mate' said Ron, 'I think we've all earned ourselves a nice holiday.' He grins at Hermione, who smiles and hugs her friends tighter.

While the boys keep a steady pace down the stairs, Hermione chokes out the realization she's been holding off since seeing the dead laid out in the Great Hall.  
'I'm not so sure normal exists for us anymore.'  
She stops mid-step, seemingly lost in thought at her own pronouncement.  
When her voice returns, it is businesslike.  
'I'm not sure we ought to go back to how things were. I mean... Fudge was terrible, wasn't he? And Scrimgeour was terrible, and well... It's not like the Ministry has a great record of running Wizarding Britain, is it? I mean, I can't think of anyone who trusts them.'  
'Hermione, it's not even been an hour since the Battle ended. Maybe let the dust settle, alright?'  
Ron smiles, interrupting her as she is about to begin a tirade.  
'I'm sure it will be fine seeing as you've likely planned for every possibility already. Now shut up about it for a while, will you?' He squeezes her hand reassuringly, and she finds to her surprise and relief that she has been mollified. She is too tired for all of this.  
Looking at Ron she finds that his expression is milder, more gentle, than he has ever been. She likes this new Ron, she decides, although she can see the grimace in his smile, the tired circles around his eyes. He is tired and in mourning. Everyone's in mourning, she corrects herself quietly.

Hermione and Ron lock hands and they all head down toward the Great Hall.

On their way past they can hear the angry mutterings and anguished wailing and weeping of some of the Death Eaters chained up in a room off the corridor. A sniffling voice chokes out 'My Lord... oh, my Lord' in a clearly heartbroken tone.  
Hermione peers into the room and catches a glimpse of Bellatrix Lestrange. Although Bellatrix had been injured badly enough by Molly Weasley to be incapacitated for the battle, she has indeed survived, and is now chained to the walls within sight of the broken body of her master. She has wept from the moment she woke, and as the morning progresses the wails of anguish has stirred annoyance enough to unite all sides of the war in bristling dislike. Bellatrix remains resolutely unfazed about this as she seems positively possessed by her grief.  
'HE'S GONE! GONE! GONE FROM ME! I cannot STAND IT!' she shrieks suddenly, breathing heavily and rattling her chains loudly. 'MY LORD! Oh, my Lord...' she throws herself against her chains, seemingly attempting to hurl herself at her Masters body. She only manages to produce a horrific choking sound, and a final anguished 'He was so beautiful.' before collapsing against the floor defeated and crying silently. Ron looks stunned, whilst Harry rolls his eyes and mumbles 'That's healthy...' to the general amusement of everyone within earshot, and the trio presses on into the Hall.

The Healers that were sent from St. Mungos immediately after the Battle are busily examining people when they return. Everyone, Death Eater or Order member, Ministry employee or private citizen, are to be examined for spell damage, curses, poison, physical injury or severe trauma that will need immediate help to avoid damage to their magic, they are informed by a harassed-looking Medi-wizard who points them in the direction of their assigned Healer. The Hall is buzzing with activity now, so unlike the place of mourning it had been just a short while ago, or the scene of jubilation it was when they left it last.

Ginny joins them on their way to find their assigned Healer. She looks to have aged about ten years this past day. Her hair lies limp and her tired posture gives her the air of someone who hasn't slept in a week. Her red-rimmed eyes smile at them from a distant place, so unlike the fiery presence she usually brings.  
'Neville and the other DA members have been taken to the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey but I stayed behind. She's refusing to let anyone else treat them unless they're Senior Healers! She got rather protective of them this year, didn't she?'  
'She must've, yeah.' Harry mumbles, distractedly. Ginny presses on in a toneless, but insistent voice.  
'Lavender Brown has been taken to St. Mungo's. Part of a group. There were five of them altogether, a couple of them second-years who got back here somehow to fight. Attacked by Greyback, all of them. It's awful, they looked half-dead. Blood everywhere. Lavender got the worst of it, though. No one knows yet precisely what he did to her, but he bit her well enough, that's for certain. There were huge gashes along her stomach and her back, but the worst was the bite. You could see the inside of her shoulder, all of it just hanging there! Tendons and flesh and veins and bones and...'  
Ron looks green.  
'Any good news?' Hermione interrupts, trying to get them away from the topic of Lavender. They'd been living in the same dorm for six years, and had gotten on reasonably well apart from that fiasco last year. Hermione felt dizzy with sadness thinking Lavender might die from her rather ghastly injuries. She'd always been so... animatedly and decidedly alive.  
'Tonks and Lupin woke up. Same thing as Bellatrix, apparently. They just... seemed dead but weren't? I didn't quite catch what happened, but either way they've come to after the Healers got to them.'  
'Lupin is dead. I met him in the Forest and he was dead.' Harry says with a surprising finality.  
'Was dead then.' Ginny corrects. 'Somehow alive now.'  
'There's a lot of that going around.' Ron responds, smiling at Harry. Harry just looks tired.

They find their assigned Healer, and she introduces herself as Healer Selwyn before singling out Harry as her first case.

Harry is examined and deemed to need soul healing, and is told to expect a referral for a soul healer by owl soon. Ron is also treated on site, though told only to swing by St. Mungo's in the next few days to pick up some potions. Finally it is Hermione's turn to be examined.

Healer Selwyn is a stout woman, likely in her mid-fifties, and with a kind expression she reaches out her hand for Hermione to shake before beginning her examination.  
The Healer pokes and prods and moves her wand in complicated patterns around Hermione while muttering a string of complicated incantations. She feels a warm energy surge through her, skin knitting itself together again, fractures healing like lightning and an electric charge moving throughout her body, lingering in places that are painful, leaving them feeling pleasantly tingling. Hermione has never been healed like this before, and she can't help but be deeply impressed.

Finally Healer Selwyn is ready to make her pronouncement on any lingering injuries.  
Hermione tugs nervously on her sleeve. What if she has done irreparable damage to herself?

'There you are, miss Granger.' Healer Selwyn says, handing Hermione a note 'You've had a few injuries, of course, but nothing too bad. You do have some standard spell damage to your magic. I expect you've been doing some heavy spellwork with very little rest?' Hermione nodded. 'And some Dark magic as well?' She nodded again, staring at a spot on the floor now. 'And some significant exposure to Dark magic and Dark Objects for quite a while from what I understand?'  
'Yes.'  
'Well, dear, you'll need to see a Healer at St. Mungo's, though it is not urgent. You'll need some soul healing for the damage to your magic, it is a bit destabilized. We will owl you when we have an appointment for you, I would advise that you avoid any heavy spellwork until then. Any questions?'

Hermione shakes her head.

'Now, there's one other thing, miss Granger. I can't help but notice you have some Crucio-related damage.'  
'It's been treated...' she starts, surprised.  
'Not as it should have been, though unless you actually came in to the hospital I'm not sure anyone could have done it properly. That must have been a fairly extensive session of torture, am I correct?'  
Hermione looks away from the kind face of the Healer, nodding once and fighting back tears.  
'Longer sessions do tend to leave permanent marks. You've got scars?'

Hermione nods again.

'Well, whoever treated you did a fine job for a civilian, but I'm afraid some permanent damage has been done. But do not worry, it is minimal. If you experience bouts of uncontrollable trembling, like your nerves are twitching, that is what that is. Nothing to be done about it now, I'm afraid, but I thought you should know. It's always best to be informed. So, uncontrollable trembles occasionally, explained.' She peers at Hermione with empathy, and smiles.  
Hermione flushes, inexplicably, with embarrassment. Quickly shaking her head and excusing herself she rushes out of the Hall and approaches the Death Eater holding room where there is quite a disturbance going on.

The captured Death Eaters are being examined, with Minister Shacklebolt and now the ever insistent Hermione Granger looking on. The Senior Healer, Shafiq, is explaining everything to Minister Shacklebolt, though she is seemingly not bothered by the onlooker hearing everything.  
Most of the Death Eaters are in terrible shape, and as such are transported directly to a secure ward guarded by senior Aurors who have been brought out of retirement especially (who else could be trusted in such a corrupt environment, Hermione supposes). The screening of Healers are of no concern ('The Healer's Oath says to First Do No Harm, Minister. It is such a cornerstone of our profession I hear even the Muggles have adopted it.' is the indignant answer when Kingsley carefully prods her about the safety of the prisoners).  
The Soul Healing has already begun for Azkaban breakouts. A surprising number of the Death Eaters' injuries seem to be caused by their Master, and most of them have long-term damage from torture. Hermione shudders at that, still reeling from the news that she has some of that, as well. She decides she has heard enough and moves in to the room to see what is going on with the other Healers.  
The room is almost empty now, leaving the last person to be examined. It is Bellatrix Lestrange, who it takes quite a while to subdue enough to examine at all (and the Healers seem reluctant to approach her anyway, as far as Hermione can tell).  
'GET OFF ME YOU DIRTY SQUIBS! DO NOT TOUCH ME, YOU BYPRODUCTS OF DUNG!' Bellatrix screams a string of expletives while viciously spitting and kicking and clawing at anything she can reach. Finally a Healer manages to send a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus at her, and they administer a calming draft. Once subdued, she is thoroughly if reluctantly examined. The damage found is extensive. The combined toll of all her injuries, spell damage, her soul damage from Azkaban... only her very powerful magic is keeping her alive Senior Healer Shafiq informs the Minister. She is going to live, most likely, if she receives the healing she needs. She is rushed to St. Mungos where it is reported she promptly tries to strangle herself with her hair in an attempt to reunite with her Lord in death. Privately, most regret that she is unsuccessful. Once the healing has begun, however, Bellatrix changes drastically very fast indeed.

On her way back to the Great Hall to tell her friends what she has seen, Hermione overhears the newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick whispering heatedly about the direction things have taken now that the healing of the Death Eaters have begun.  
Officially, the extent of Bellatrix Lestranges guilt is suddenly called into question along with a number of other Death Eaters who all seem to have some curious ailments, and whose personalities seem to change now that the Dark Mark has well and truly faded and they are being healed. The word Imperius is thrown about liberally, along with extortion and intimidation.

'The criminal code and the Wizengamot are in shambles, Minerva. We couldn't prosecute if we wanted to at the moment, as everyone who has been hired for the past decade are up for review. Corruption has run deep and unfettered through the ranks for a long time. The Ministry will be busy rebuilding from the ground up for the foreseeable future. Besides, you remember the sham we had to suffer through last time. I'm more interested in justice over expediency this time around.'  
'I am tired of this fight, Kingsley. Many of my students are dead simply for the quest of some madman. I cannot in good conscience let this lie until we have come to a solution on the issues at hand. One insane demagogue dead solves nothing. We need to address the concerns he has exploited to his advantage. As much as it pains me to say it, we need to address the Statute, Kingsley, and how we are enforcing it! I, too, believe the time for justice has come, although I am not yet certain we agree on what that means.'

Hermione continues onward into the Hall again only to find the Minister following her in.  
'Might I have a word, miss Granger? And mister Potter and mister Weasley, you as well.' he gestured for the boys who had been sidling up toward Hermione. They follow after the Minister, and off the corridor he leads them into an empty classroom. Kingsley begins to explain his intentions almost immediately upon shutting the door behind him.  
'I have called a state of emergency. The country is in utter chaos, and there is a lot of confusion in the community regarding certain events and who is behind them. The work of clearing up what has happened begins now. Immediately. And I need your help.'  
A deep breath.  
'The war is over, and with it the mission you were sent on for Dumbledore is over. It is time for full, unqualified disclosure. This is not a request, but an order. You will be depositioned. In exchange we will also forgive the... legally delicate situations you all have been in as of late. Unforgivables, robberies, illegal impersonation, fraud, Apparating without a license and the like, all forgiven. Slate wiped clean.' he gives them a broad smile. 'Of course, it isn't much, but this is a fresh start and we have decided to give everyone a chance this once. Our stipulation is simple: no more secrets. Alright?'

When Harry looks like he will argue, Hermione is surprised to find it is not her, but Ron, who whispers urgently to him 'He's right. Once we explain how very very dead You-Know-Who is, well... it'll put everyone's minds at ease, won't it? And it will not exactly hurt our search or anything seeing as we're done and well... Dumbledore isn't going to miss any of his secrets now, will he?'

The constipated look Harry gives Hermione at this might have been comical in any other situation. 'What if somebody else gets the idea to make Horcruxes, though?' he worries, addressing Hermione directly.

'Well... it's not exactly readily available information, Harry. And we could... well, I suppose we could emphasise the less desirable effects of Horcruxes.'  
'Yeah, like the snake-face and the whole being insane thing.' adds Ron eagerly.  
Harry finally cracks a smile. 'I suppose you're right.'

He turns back to the Minister, 'But I also want Dumbledore and Snape's stories to come out then. No more secrets.'

And so, as the sun sets on their day of victory Hermione Granger does not mourn the dead, nor does she celebrate their final, decisive victory. Instead she is among the first to be subjected to a deposition by a Ministry scribe and then she is summarily interviewed by none other than Rita Skeeter  
'Bloody unbelievable.' she mutters under her breath more than once between strained smiles to the woman she once kidnapped and blackmailed. _At least she won't dare to slander us_, she smiles to herself.


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Feedback most welcome :)  
**

**Chapter 2**

_May 4 1998_

_Well, this is exciting_, thought Hermione, as she thumbed through her borrowed copy of the morning Prophet, skipping the ten-page interview section with herself, Ron and Harry.  
The more interesting news was that finally, in the year 2004, democracy would come to Wizarding Britain for good. Moreover, it seemed the only part of the Ministry set to remain relatively unchanged by the war was the Department of Mysteries.

The Minister has laid out his basic plan in the paper, and merely glancing at it is enough to confirm to anyone that the one largest unforeseen eventuality of victory is the idealism and will for change brought to the Ministry by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The plan is ambitious and rather grandly idealistic, but perfectly doable if everyone works together.  
The Commission for Reconstruction would map the war damage and rebuild or reform things where needed, or decommission and relinquish lands back to the Muggles where appropriate. The Commission for the Creation and Expansion of Safe Spaces would seek out new ground to set up all-wizarding communities, a necessity at this juncture to appease those who agree with basic Death Eater sentiment but not method (a sizeable portion of the populace, especially now that the other side had been... pruned) along with the more staunch isolationist factions that reside on all sides of the conflict depending on their views on how to best achieve magical isolation. New and larger habitats for magical creatures would also be opened, creating both employment and ample opportunity for Britain to become a world leader in a number of research fields as the flora and fauna available would multiply.  
The Minister himself would find and hire people, and these commissions would be the practical arm of building the foundation for a completely changed Ministry of Magic, complete with a new Constitution anchored by more than just the Statute of Secrecy.  
Professor Minerva McGonagall has been put in charge of a separate commission to overhaul the education system, and it is noted by her in the Prophet already that this new system would include at least some primary education, and the Hogwarts curriculum would include some fields of interest to both wizards and muggles, so as to make it easier for people to integrate into the muggle world if they wish upon completion of their education. Professor McGonagall will also resume her post as Headmistress once Hogwarts opens again, which would sadly not be for quite some time. The magic around the castle and grounds would need a thorough reworking.

_'We have fought long for reforms and revisions, and we have tried to salvage a corrupt system again and again. The war has broken that system beyond repair. The time for radical change has come upon us. Let us all put the past behind us and focus on building a better future together. I hope and believe that a time of lasting peace has now come, and that we will all work together to make it so.' announced Minister Shacklebolt to reporters today at the Ministry of Magic offices in London. _

The Commissions have a year to lay the basic framework, after which there would be an establishing period for the new Ministry of five years and then the first ever Wizarding Elections would be held, putting in place a new elected portion of the Wizengamot, instating a new Minister for Magic and new Heads of Department.

_Regarding the Death Eaters and sympathisers both in and out of custody, it has been ultimately decided by the Minister and his advisors that everyone with ties to Voldemort will be put under house arrest for the time being, with severe restrictions set for their magic. All medical care will of course be provided for until the time of their trials. Where convicted criminals will be held is yet unclear, as Azkaban is as of yet uninhabitable after a severe bout of vandalism. _

_'Everyone will be given a second chance in this new society. There will be trials, of course, but they will take quite some time to arrange. Passing judgment will be a low priority for this administration until the safety and comfort of the wizarding world had been secured. The public will be the first priority for me, always.' said Minister Shacklebolt before bidding us adieu to return to his work. _

_May 5 1998_

After a quick breakfast Hermione packed up her tent (Gryffindor tower barely stood as it was, and provided absolutely no privacy) and apparated to Diagon Alley. Leaving through the Leaky Cauldron she caught a bus north. Her heart hammers loudly in her ears all the way to the anonymous-looking suburban neighbourhood, where she finally stepped off the bus, walked down the street and turned left. Oak Drive, the sign said, barely hanging on to the edge of the precipice on which it stood. There is nothing there. Nothing at all.

The whole street resembles some sort of construction project gone horribly wrong. She gapes at the elongated hole in the ground, stunned by the sheer amount of debris left by what was once her home, now roped off.  
'Tragic, isn't it? Gas-leak about 4 months ago, right after New Year's. Caused a massive explosion and fire. Killed 17 people, it did.' volunteered a man watering the lawn nearest the corner. Hermione vaguely recognizes him. 'There's a whole government investigation going on about it, too. Insurance claims haven't even been confirmed, last I heard. Clearly a gas-leak, but they can't find the evidence of it anywhere, see? But things don't just blow up over nothing. Insult to injury, if you ask me, not paying the families. These people... Good thing you moved when you did, eh?' the man was absentmindedly trimming the hedges opposite the disaster site, peering at her curiously when he recognizes her, too.

Hermione swayed, suddenly dizzy. 17 people? Had the Order forgotten about keeping an eye out for her old home? That could have been her parents. Those were her neighbours. She turns and runs, hardly managing to breathe for the excruciating pain blooming in her chest. She needed to find Harry. Now.

She apparated from a secluded spot near a park onto the steps of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Harry had mentioned that morning that he had decided to return there to survey the damage now that the teachers had taken over the cleanup of Hogwarts.

'Harry?' She called into the kitchen.  
'Hermione! I'm through here.'  
'Oh.'  
How to tell him?

'I... I've got something I need to talk to you about, Harry. Are you alright?' she adds upon seeing the tired young man seated near the lit fire, his face the picture of grief.

'The house is... such a mess, Hermione. Kreacher is gathering up whatever he can, but the place is just... it's going to take a lot to clean up. The Death Eaters tore it apart. And I've been to Gringotts, where they're not too pleased to see me out and about. You remember Travers? The bloke we Imperiused?' he inquired. She nods.  
'Well, that dragon breakout killed him. And 12 goblins as well. 14 people are in hospital.' he fixed her with a pained expression, 'Hermione, I don't know what to do. I've killed them.'  
'Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!' she sat down in a chair next to him, and reached for his hand.  
'We had no choice. What could we do? This is how war goes. There are casualties. They're not... it isn't our fault, they're just... casualties of war.'  
'How can you be so calm about it? We've killed them!'  
'Well, Harry. I just came from my parents house and... Death Eaters blew up the whole street. 17 of my neighbours are dead. I... I am not sure what to be anymore if I can't just be calm.'  
'Hermione!' The shock and horror on his face says it all.

They sat in silence for a while, staring into the dark wooden table. Everything felt far away, and Hermione suspected, somehow, that only the truth could ground her, keep her from simply floating away to somewhere even more terrible than the here and now. She needed to stay here, to stay anchored to the people she loved, the ones she had left.

'You know, I don't even miss them that much. I counted it all up and... well, I've spent less a year with them since I was eleven. Total.'

Harry looked at her, and she crumpled. 'I'm a terrible daughter! I've ruined their life and gotten their neighbours killed! I haven't spent any time with them and I've altered their minds using magic way beyond my skill level, really, and Harry I don't know what to do!'

She sobbed in his arms, and before long she felt something distinctly tear-like in her hair.

_May 6 1998_

_WAR DEATH TOLL RISES AS MORE GRAVES ARE UNCOVERED_

_by Edward Mulligan_

_Ministry officials have so far confirmed the death of more than 400 Muggles, 70 Goblins, and an as-of-yet-undetermined number of witches and wizards that exceeds at least 700 as more graves are uncovered across the country and checked against missing persons-lists which Ministry officials are yet compiling. _

_The public has been advised to notify the Ministry of Magic's War Commission Head Elvira Robbins if they see any suspicious changes in their surroundings that may indicate a magical gravesite.  
Mass graves have been confirmed in multiple locations throughout the British Isles as the Ministry has commenced their questioning of surviving Death Eaters, Aurors, and Order of the Phoenix members. _

_The death toll is expected to rise as still more interviews are conducted._

_'It's really a sad state of affairs. There's been heavy casualties on all sides of the conflict, particularly civilians. It's an unprecedented situation here in Britain.' said one Betelgeuse Sinclair, member of the War Commission. 'We're not yet sure about the Magical Creatures as we're still counting human casualties. The Goblins have had their own internal count however, and if it's anything like that... well, we're going to have to take drastic measures. Population numbers are dismal.'_

Hermione folded up the paper and sighed. Peace looked decidedly more complicated than she had expected it would.

She was still living in a tent. Ron has gone home with his family, and she has decisively declined the invitation to come along. They need time to be together, the Weasleys, without anyone else. That much both her and Harry had agreed on when they made their decision.  
Harry was staying at Grimmauld place, another invitation she had declined with decidedly more guilt. Another pair of hands would probably have been of a lot of use, but she needs time to think, time to figure out what she is going to do now.

She can't sleep. She leaps at every sound, ready to defend herself. _Constant vigilance, _she smiles to herself tiredly before drifting off, finally, only to find herself in yet another nightmare.

_May 7 1998_

'Where am I? What's happened? Who in the name of Merlin are you?'

'Mrs. Lestrange, it's ... nice to see you've come to. I'm Senior Healer Smithwyck, and you are in a secure specialty ward in St. Mungos. You've been out for 5 days while we treated a series of injuries and repaired some spell radiation damage here and there. I suspect it was the regrowing of your bones that had you out so long.'  
'What?'  
'Give it a moment, it'll come back to you I'm sure. I explained it before you were given a Sleeping Draught.'

Healer Smithwyck continued trotting about the room, waving her wand in complicated movements around Bellatrix, who just then noticed the series of potions on a table next to her bed.

'Are those for me?'  
'I've already administered all of them while you were asleep. The last one just a few minutes ago, you'll be able to feel it soon enough.'  
'It feels awful.'  
'Indeed.'

It was as if an anvil was lifted off her chest, leaving her with her own feelings, which seemed feeble and colourless when compared to the intense and single-minded dedication she has been carrying with her the past few years. But... she had loved him. She thought she had really loved him. Had she not?

Certainly she had, long ago. Then, Azkaban had made nearly everything disappear and turned the rest all wrong. Some feelings had come back, of course. She still loved her family, Cissy and even Draco. Rodolphus maybe. But perhaps she hadn't... when she thought of it she could not remember ever feeling that particular kind of surge of emotion around the Dark Lord after Azkaban until... until he had offered her some wine the evening after the Department of Mysteries, while she was recovering from her injuries. At Malfoy Manor. She'd always chalked her lack of desire for Him up to dazedness from Azkaban or even an adjustment to his new appearance, but alas it seemed her Lord had betrayed her yet again, unknowingly this time. Her Lord, what a joke! What saved her from Azkaban had never been the man she missed. And yet she had wanted that man with a passion beyond anything she had ever felt for anything else. Bellatrix knew now, however, that it had not been love after Azkaban, it had been gratitude.

She turned her head to peer over at the Healer who was busily scribbling on a chart.

'Is Rodolphus alive?'  
'Your husband is alive, but he is in very serious condition, I'm afraid.' the Healer said, though she did not sound sorry at all.  
'Oh.'

She could try to escape, of course. But she was awfully tired. Tired of running, tired of escaping, tired of fighting. Bloody Molly Weasley had nearly done her in, for Merlin's sake. And they had lost. What was the point? She settled more firmly against her pillow.  
She had lost long before now, really. This wasn't what she had wanted. She'd wanted _him _most of all, but the man who freed her wasn't the man she'd gone to prison for anyway. She'd lost everything 17 years ago. Now, she supposed, they'd only patch her up enough so they could keep her alive long after they'd administered the Kiss.

'I need to address some of your soul damage with you now that you are awake.' Healer Smithwyck addressed her.  
'Excuse me?'  
'Well, if you'll pardon my assumption it is likely you have soul damage for a variety of other reasons, but I am specifically thinking of Azkaban right now. We are offering all patients recovering from Azkaban some potions to recover. There are several steps. The first is to induce remorse, to start the soul healing from the Dementors. It seems processing what you feel worst about in life is the best route to recovery, and we will have a soul Healer attend to that with you. Best not to let anything painful fester in your heart, you see. After that you will be given various potions to induce a variety of emotions, and go through them with a soul healer as well. Most of those will revolve around dreams, happy memories, and love, so the remorse will be the least pleasant, I expect.'

The Healer peered down at Bellatrix curiously.

'The soul damage interferes with your magic if left unattended, makes it unstable and difficult to control. Tends to mess with the mind, as well. It isn't the best for your mental health to leave it unchecked.'

Bellatrix coloured slightly at the insinuation. Healer Smithwyck pays it no mind, instead she pulled herself up, standing directly in front of Bellatrix, considering her.

'I am offering you Essence of Remorse, just like everyone else. It will only begin the process, you must complete it yourself with the Healer if you wish for it to have any effect. Most of our patients have a significantly lower amount of soul damage, and as such their healing is not really that difficult. I feel, however, it is my duty to warn you that the process will likely not be as bearable for you. You might be among our worst cases. However, we have Healers here who are willing to guide you through it if you wish. But it is... likely exceedingly difficult and painful.'  
'Will it... will it help with the nightmares?'  
'Nightmares? Not at first, but later on I expect it will.'  
'I'll do it then.'

_At least they aren't chucking me back in there_, Bellatrix thought. S_o long as they don't put me back there I think I could bear anything. _

_May 8 1998_

It has taken all her influence and all her anger and willpower and persuasion but finally Hermione has managed to secure a meeting with Bellatrix Lestrange at St. Mungos, having been warned that the Death Eater is on some sort of potion causing her to be less than lucid. But Hermione has gathered all her courage to do this, because she needs the answers she expects only Bellatrix has.

So she goes to see her anyway.

'Are my parents alive?' she demanded while a practical plethora of Aurors look on from every corner of the room. Bellatrix, magically restrained and face contorted in rage, grief and pain, confirms that no one has attempted to find them as far as she knows. The Death Eater seemed completely out of her mind, as usual, thrashing wildly in seeming pain. Nevertheless, she manages to inform Hermione that once the house had been located and searched it had become clear the Trio had not spent any time there. It had, as such, subsequently been disposed of and the hunt for the Trio had continued elsewhere.

'Your filthy muggles were beneath our consideration.' Bellatrix smugly informs Hermione in a lucid moment before promptly crumbling again and Hermione almost curses her, but instead she storms out relieved and infuriated in equal measure. She is shaking but is uncertain if it is really an emotional response to seeing Bellatrix or simply Crucio-related trembling. She hardens at the thought of the criss-cross of scars that have thankfully faded from their angry red to a silvery sort of colour, and hopes secretly that Azkaban reopens to lock Bellatrix away forever with her very own Dementor stationed permanently in her very cell.

But regardless of all that, Hermione can at least continue with her plans now.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Feedback most welcome :) Warning for het, if that offends you :)  
**

**Chapter 3  
**

_May 9-13 1998_

After a war there are usually a lot of funerals to attend. This one is no exception, especially not for the Golden Trio, who everyone seems to see fit to extend an invitation to. Ron isn't up to it, finding it difficult to leave his family. Hermione and Harry try to attend every funeral they can.  
Still, there is something particular about saying goodbye to people you knew relatively well. Laying to rest Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey and Professor Vector stands out as being especially emotional for Hermione.

Fred has always been so vivacious, so especially animated, that the fact that the simple urn lowered into the ground in the small graveyard outside Ottery St. Catchpole is all that remains is simply incomprehensible. The Weasley's, while still a large family, seem starkly diminished without their Fred. Hermione and Harry hold on to Ginny and Ron through the service, gripping hands and shielding them in their arms. Arthur sobs openly into his wife's shoulders. Molly has the air of someone desperately trying to hold herself together. Bill sits quietly gripping Fleurs' hand, his other arm slung around Georges' shoulders, pulling him close. On Georges' other side sits Charlie, tears streaming down his face, his arms wrapped protectively around George and Percy, who is seated on his other side. Lee Jordan completes the row.  
It is a very quiet service. After it is over, Percy, Charlie and George set off a massive display of fireworks. Molly serves all of Freds favourite dishes, and everyone tries to enjoy it. It is likely what Fred would have wanted.

Colin Creevey is the picture of innocence as his still body is displayed in an open-coffin service. His parents have difficulty explaining to their friends and family what has killed their son, and have gone with 'sudden heart failure', leaving the service oddly disjointed as being half about bravery in standing up for one's principles and half about the senseless medical phenomenon that took Colin away.  
The funeral isn't as well attended as most of the wizarding funerals. It seems a lot of people don't know quite what to wear or how to behave at a muggle funeral, and has chosen to send cards of condolence instead. Those have been displayed throughout the entirety of the Creevey home sitting room, filling the room with the smell of parchment and giving a visual effect almost like a blanket of snow. Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up, in a very impressive suit, and introduces himself to Colins' parents as the Minister for Magic, and hands over a posthumous Order of Merlin. They seem to take heart at this.  
Dennis holds his brothers' camera close throughout, carefully documenting the proceedings. He takes a photograph of Hermione standing against the backdrop of hundreds of magical greeting cards, looking very lost. He owls it to her the very next day.

Professor Vectors' funeral is attended by what could be called the wizarding world's intellectual elite. However, Hermione feels as though she might never be interested in any academic pursuit ever again when she looks at the broken body of the woman who taught her favourite subject. It seems somehow especially senseless that a woman of such formidable talents should be dead.

_May 14 1998_

Harry and Hermione arrive at the Burrow together in their best black robes, meeting Ginny and Ron. They all linger in a painful embrace before Apparating to Hogsmeade. They walk to the grounds in silence, joining the throng of people already filing up the street.

The memorial for victims of the battle has been put together so late due to the heavy demands of rebuilding the area, but now everyone is gathering in the Hogwarts grounds, wearing solemn expressions.  
They find their seats near the front as they have been instructed to do, and Hermione finds Rons hand. It is cold and dry.  
_Yet another day_, she thinks as she watches everyone file into their seats, _for reckoning the cost of freedom_. The nagging voice that has begun bothering her at these moments makes itself heard again. _But freedom from what? Persecution? Voldemort?_ She isn't hard-pressed to know what she's fought against, but as the days pass and her funeral attendance sheet tops up, she has gotten less certain about what she has ever fought _for _and which possible lofty goal they have accomplished. Could there even be something that is worth the price they have all paid? Surely they are building something? Surely the world will now be better? As of now it seems their victory has left them nothing but smouldering ruins to top out an already rotten foundation. Kingsley's reforms seem very much not enough when she looks out on the crowd of mourners.

A man steps up and begins addressing the crowd. He speaks of the bravery and sacrifice, the honour and the courage, the conviction and determination that led so many to nobly defend what is right in the world. _Or to attack what is wrong, _Hermione silently adds to herself. A stinging, stabbing pain grows forth behind her rib cage. The man at the front begins listing the fallen in a slow somber voice.  
Names known and unknown fly by. She doesn't cry, can't cry anymore.  
She knew many of these people, of course, but most only peripherally. Susan Bones is sobbing uncontrollably into Padma Patils shoulder, apparently having grabbed hold of the nearest known person. She has lost... a dozen close family members and friends? Merlin, it is all too much.  
The jolt of recognizing a name comes more often than she'd have liked. All of them gone from this world forever.

The service finally ends, and people start filing up to the Great Hall for lunch. Ron lets go of her hand as he moves to embrace his mother, and soon the Weasleys are all walking along, supporting Molly who is sobbing uncontrollably, having finally let go of her control. Harry and Hermione trail behind.  
Harry looks far awar, and she reaches out and squeezes his cold, clammy hand. He jolts.  
'It was a good service, don't you think?' she asks gently, not able to think of much else to say.  
He casts her a look with an expression of profound sorrow, before nodding.  
'Come on, Hermione. Let's get some food.'  
And along they go. In the Great Hall they spot Tonks and what must be Andromeda sitting at the Hufflepuff table and walk over to join them.  
'Wotcher, Harry. Hermione.' Tonks' hair is grey today. It somehow does not age her, rather it lends her an air of resilience and regality.  
'I'm so sorry about Ted.' Harry is looking directly at Andromeda.  
'Thank you.' she almost whispers, her voice cracking.  
'Where is Remus?'  
'He's still in hospital.' Tonks frowns. Upon seeing their expressions of concern she adds, 'He'll be alright, though. Just takes a bit of time, you know. Werewolves are a tricky bunch to heal.'

Tonks blinks and smiles, suddenly brightening.  
'Oh, blimey, I nearly forgot. Hermione, meet my mother. Mum, meet Hermione. You already know Harry, don't you mum?'

The social formalities are a welcome break.  
Ron and Ginny, appearing to be recovering from the emotional upheaval of their mother, shows up and another round of handshakes are exchanged.

After the introduction and some pleasantries Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione find themselves some free seats and Hermione grabs a Prophet someone has left on the table.  
The newspaper is entirely devoted to obituaries of casualties in the war. There are muggle killings listed on one page, magical creatures on another. Witches and wizards killed during the war on the next. Memorials, obituaries. Photographs whenever one can be located. The paper feels unusually heavy in her hands, and a quick check reveals it to be about 3 times the normal thickness. The first few pages explain that the Minister has proclaimed today a national day of mourning. All the obituaries that the Prophet had to scrap during the war due to the delicate sensibilities of the Death Eaters are now included in chronological order.

In the back there is a list of casualties who were explicitly killed while in the service of Voldemort. A simple list of names. Antonin Dolohov, Kervin Yaxley, Thorfinn Rowle, Walden Macnair, Archibald Avery, Rabastan Lestrange, Vincent Crabbe Sr., Bernard Goyle, Vincent Crabbe jr., Gregory Gibbon, Rigel Jugson, Fenrir Greyback, Bilius Mulciber, Theodore Nott, Wulfric Selwyn, Brian Travers.

And those were simply those she recognized.

'They've had trouble with security.' Ron remarks, scanning the page of names himself. 'Lots of Death Eaters have been assassinated in their house arrest. The really high profile ones have better security, though, to keep the public safe.' he makes a face. 'We should just AK the lot, I think. No need for them anymore, is there?'

'They've been moved now, though.' Harry says. 'To a secret location. Can't have them all dead before trial, or else they won't get any information out of them.'  
'How do you know?' asks Ron, incredulous.  
'Overheard it. McGonagall and Slughorn were discussing it.'  
'Blimey.'

_May 16 1998_

Hermione has rarely felt as nervous as she does today. There he is, the boy she has known for so long and whom she has wanted so badly and who has broken her heart again and again. He sits there at a table at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for her. Perhaps now, they'll stand a chance.

'Hi.'  
'How are you, Hermione?'  
'Oh, I'm alright. How are you? How is everyone?'  
'Bloody terrible.' he looks dejected, old. 'Mum's a mess. It's her brothers all over again, dad says. Death Eaters killed them last time round, see. They were in the Order.'  
'I'm so sorry, Ron.' she bites her lip. Even now, with sorrow contorting his features, he is strangely beautiful. They sit in silence for a while until Hermione gets up, extending her hand. 'Come on.'

He stands up and Hermione twists in midair and they are gone, reappearing in a forest clearing. She takes out her wand to allow them to pass through her wards.

'It's the tent Bill gave us! Blimey, I'd almost forgotten.' Ron bursts out, a smile cracking his face.

'Yeah, I've been living here the past few weeks. I've raided Grimmauld place for food, though, so that's no longer a problem. And this tent smells much nicer. It's comfortable, really.' she isn't sure who she is trying to convince, but it sounds almost true. _I have nowhere else to go because I can't stand to be around anyone else right now and Death Eaters blew up my house _doesn't have as nice of a ring to it, anyway.

For a while they stand there, holding hands and looking at it.

Finally they have some time, just the two of them. They haven't been alone together for nearly a year, not really. So much has happened since then. It feels like their kiss was a lifetime ago. But here, they can pretend nothing is different, or at least so she hopes.

'I'm going to be helping George run the shop. I start in two weeks.'  
'That's wonderful, Ron. Really. I don't know what I am going to do yet.'  
'I expect you'll join Ginny in repeating seventh year, right? You can't possibly resist the few extra trips to the library it'll afford you.'  
He chuckles and she gives him a friendly shove.  
'What? A return to homework and revision schedules has always been your dream, hasn't it?' he grins. She punches his shoulder.  
'Honestly, Ron. You are terrible.' she smiles.

The tension has broken.

They used to have a lot of time together. Especially during the school holidays. Letters exchanged (they'd jokingly called them the Secret Letters of Secrets), and whispered conversations before Harry was let out from the Dursleys nearly every year. The two of them have always had fun together and today is no exception. As Ron laments the halting of Quidditch matches ('What's it going to do for them to halt matches for a whole month? I mean, for Merlin's sake, no one is arguing the reconstruction depends on the condition no one attends sporting events. Personally, I think some cheering up is in order.') she decides that she has waited long enough for them. Years and years, just waiting for one stupid, bloody peaceful moment, really. Well, peace has come now and there is too much grief, fuelling a feeling of sudden urgency. So she takes his hand and drags him over to the large bedroom and sits him down on the bed.

'I've missed you.' she almost whispers as she traces his arm, caressing the burn marks and scars there. There are faint imprints of Devil's Snare branches, and it fills her with a longing more intense than she can explain.  
'I've missed you too, Hermione.' His blush is a deep crimson. The tips of his ears are as bright scarlet as ever, and Hermione finds that she can no longer help herself when she sees it. She leans in and kisses him, deeply. He stiffens, but soon melts into her touch. After a while she finds that while she is roaming his body, he touches her ever so gently. It's as if he is afraid he will break her, and it strikes her as rather sweet for once. She knows him so well, she can so easily sense that he is, as always, afraid of getting it wrong. Ron is the sort of boy who has always needed gentle handling. Perhaps it is why she has so spectacularly failed at securing him before now, she muses. She is not a particularly gentle person, after all.

'Ron, I want you.' she says it softly. It is meant to be reassuring, but it sounds breathy and rather more direct than she intends. She decides she does not mind, and grabs at his shirt. Ron is wearing muggle clothes today, which she finds comfortingly familiar, a touch of something normal again after all this time in magical hell.  
When she finally removes his shirt she discovers that it isn't just his arms. He is covered in scars, many of them obviously fresh burn scars from Gringotts made faint with Dittany, and more faint Devil's Snare marks snake across his torso. She's glad for the scars, in a way. She has quite a few of her own. She notes the tendril marks left by the brain in the Ministry, and she drags her lower lip across them, trying to feel the edges. His left arm is deeply marked where he was splinched. It is both disconcerting and comforting that she finds she knows almost every story written across him already. It feels like coming home.  
There are scrape-like scars on his back that seem oddly small for his size. They must be from long ago. 'What are these?' she whispers, ghosting her fingers across them. 'I fell off my horse on the chess board first year, remember?' She nods, and when she realizes he cannot see her, she says 'Yes. I remember.' before continuing her journey across his torso.

Slowly she explores his body, eventually removing his trousers. He seems too stunned to react to any of it at first, before enveloping her in a rather enthusiastic reciprocation before long.  
Everything else she has hoped about her life has fallen apart. She will not give him up, too. She needs this and so she takes it. Not just peace now. At least one victory, after all this time.


	4. Part 1: Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Feedback most welcome :)  
**

**Chapter 4**

_May 17 1998_

Hermione felt as though something had finally come together in her life as she shared a nice breakfast with Ron. It isn't difficult to decide what to do next. It feels oddly final, like her perspective has shifted. This concluded the list of things she wished to accomplish before embarking on her next adventure.

'Ron, I'm going to Australia to get my parents.'  
'Oh. We'll come with you, of did you have in mind?'  
'This is... it is something I have to do on my own. Will you help me pack up after breakfast?'  
'You're going NOW?'

The hurt on his face was unmistakable, and understandable.

'I want to get it over with as soon as possible, yes. It is rather important, after all.' she raises her eyebrows at him, 'Ron, I need to do this alone, I really do. They're my parents. It isn't like I'm leaving you behind forever, I'm just going to find them. Besides,' she leans toward him and looks him straight in the eyes, 'we've still got today.'  
He turned a furious shade of scarlet immediately and she smirked. She's not quite sure how she ended up being so confident about this, but she is satisfied it has happened this way. After all, someone needs to take charge and Ronald Weasley isn't the most take charge sort of person, not about these sort of things anyway.

That evening they pack up the tent, and apparate together to Grimmauld Place. They say their farewells and she leaves the boys behind to step into the night after many assurances of her absolute safety. Harry hands her one part of the two-way mirror anyway.

_May 17-June 2 1998_

Wizarding long-distance travel is complicated. It is most unfortunate, but this has not been an issue Hermione has paid too much mind. Until now. _It is as I suspected, _she sighed wearily to herself. _No research is ever wasted. I could've been so much better prepared. _She rolls her eyes, thinking of Rons' likely response.

Portkey is the conventional mode of transport for long-distance travel but since it needs to be authorized Hermione has eschewed it. She instead takes the broom she has on loan from Professor McGonagall (whose enthusiasm for brooms is as unexpected as it is fervent), Apparates to Dover and flies to France. The travelling broom is relatively comfortable, has a compass and a permanent temperature charm on it, so in spite of the cold wind she is not freezing.  
The black travelling cloak that seems so ubiquitous in the wizarding world makes perfect sense to her now, as she flies over Muggle dwellings in the night, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her, creating a sort of cocoon that keeps her warm and shields her from sight. It isn't just fashion after all.

Once daybreak finds her she lands in a field, sets up her tent and protective enchantments, closes the blinds and tries to rest. At nightfall, she concentrates with all her might and apparates into the unknown. Apparition has become second-nature now, but once she reaches Gibraltar she takes her broom out once more and flies shakily into the night. National borders often govern where one can apparate, and while Hermione is aware of the European Wizarding Nations regulations on the matter, she is a bit uncertain if one can apparate directly from Spain to Morocco.

Being uncomfortable with broom travel is not an option for the witch or wizard who seeks privacy. Brooms cannot be tracked, except by sight or if someone's already put a tracking charm on the broom in question. No one has on this broom (McGonagall has assured her as much, and she's double- and triple-checked just to be sure). Hermione's wish for privacy is stronger than her discomfort. This journey has been planned in private moments over the last few weeks, albeit with little research done, and she will not stop simply because she is travelling on a small piece of wood that is going much too fast and flying much too high for her to ever truly relax. It might be exhausting, but she is Hermione Granger. She's flown on Thestrals and dragons and she'll be damned if this silly broom will defeat her.

The days pass until she reaches, finally, Zambia. Here there is a wizarding stronghold, a well-run and efficient Ministry that has yet to re-open diplomatic relations with the British Ministry (it seems abhorrent and nonsensical to exclude Muggleborns in a society where the borders between the magical and mundane are somewhat more porous and magic has traditionally been welcome). She registers for a Portkey at the Portkey office in Kabwe to take her directly to Perth.

Once she is safely in Perth she simply looks up her parents in the phone book, quickly finding their dental practice listed. Some things are really rather simple, too, and thank goodness for that. No Fidelius charm conceals them, no anti-intruder spells protect them. She finds it comforting and terrifying all at the same time. Muggles are too easy to find. Thank goodness they had been 'beneath consideration'.

_June 28 1998 _

Harry Potter looked unusually downcast as he stared down into his kitchen table. Silence filled the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

'I thought it would be easier now. You know, to live my life, to be a regular bloke. But all the things that have happened... well, I... I haven't been sleeping well.' he mumbles it so quiet that Hermione almost misses it.

Kreacher is off organizing his precious collection of Black family heirlooms, which Harry has decided to let him keep in the attic after cleaning it out with him. Kreacher has also moved a select few heirlooms into his new dwelling in a large unused pantry in the kitchen, which Harry has helpfully repainted and cleaned up for him, even going out and getting a children's bed frame and shrinking it down so Kreacher has a proper place to sleep. 'A mattress in a cupboard is not a fit place for anyone.' he insisted in a most grim tone as he meticulously hung a gallery of Kreachers favourite Black family members on the wall around the shelf and cupboard he had installed there for the elf to keep his things in, and it broke Hermione's heart to hear the hollow note of his voice. She knows the wounds from Harry's childhood run deep, but it isn't something they ever talk about if it can be avoided.

Hermione clutched her coffee mug as tears threatened to fall.

'I've had some trouble with that myself.' she confesses. 'Any other news?'  
'I am going to move into Grimmauld Place permanently. I'm hiring another house elf to help Kreacher and... well, you're still welcome to stay with me if you want. We're getting rid of the last Dark stuff soon, too.'  
'Do you think you can?'  
'Clean it up completely? Yeah. I've... I've written to Narcissa Malfoy about it. She reckons she knows the old family spells that Sirius never learned. She also reckons some of the portraits might actually willingly get off the walls if she's taking them. So... it should be fine. The Ministry is holding her, but they're going to let her help me.'  
'Wow. Just... wow, Harry. You trust her to help you?'  
'I don't think I have much choice. And she did save my life, you know. The Auror detail she has at all times also feels rather comforting.' he flashes her a smile, 'Would you like to move in with me then or are you just going to live in that tent forever?'  
She leans back in mock sincerity, seemingly thinking it over.  
'Well, it's a tough decision. On the one hand you've got this large, comfortable house and on the other I have my _wonderful_ tent. Although I suppose... I don't know if you've ever been camping, Harry, but living in a tent can actually get rather tedious after a while.'

They both chuckled at that before silence fell again and she deliberates only for a few moments longer before deciding that this is the time to confess.

'I'm not actually staying in the tent forever, obviously. However, I am also not moving in with you, Harry. I am moving away for a while. Away from all of this.'

Harry nods, but seems to steel himself, gripping his mug tightly. After a tense few moments he looks up.

'Hermione, it's not your fault. It isn't anyones fault. You did the best you could, you did what you had to do. I can see you're blaming yourself, but you really shouldn't.' gripping his mug like a lifeline he continues, 'I always wanted to be a Weasley, you know. But in the end... well, you and I have always been the odd ones out, haven't we? Ron... I don't think he knows what it's like, really, to be alone like we are. He's never experienced it. You and I are different. Our families have never understood or been a part of our lives in that way and... Well, in Godric's Hollow... for all that happened I'm still glad it was you I shared my first trip there with. We've only got each other. We're family, you and I, as far as I'm concerned. We've still got each other.'  
'Wow, Harry! That's... well, I mean to say... I... I think of you the same way.'

She sighed.

'They're staying in Australia, Harry. My parents. They aren't really that angry with me. Death Eaters blowing up our street sort of demonstrated my point rather brilliantly, and Australia has really been agreeing with them. I've saved their lives, even if some of their memories might have been lost. I had no way of knowing I needed to protect all my neighbours as well, though. I...'

She broke off. It didn't matter how guilty she was or wasn't, the guilt she felt weighed as heavy on her either way. People were dead because of her. They'd never even known there was any danger. She hadn't even thought to warn her neighbours to look out for people in funny cosutmes or dark cloaks...

'The Dursleys are moving to back to Surrey. They've been hiding out in Ireland, apparently. I met Dudley the other day at their debriefing. He's spent all his time exercising and reading and keeping his head down. He's... well-mannered and stuff. It's beyond weird. He's changed so much.' Harry interjected.  
'Haven't we all?' she paused, staring into her tea cup for a few seconds.

She sighed before plodding on.

'I'm going back to Australia, too. Nobody there knows me. I can finish school, spend a few years not being hounded by those bloody annoying Prophet photographers. Hopefully spending time in actual sunshine. You know... the sort of thing you could also need.' she gave him a warm smile.

'That is a very interesting offer, Hermione.' he looked impressed that she has offered, but not all together interested. This will not do.

'Well, in all honesty, Harry... you can't stay here. This isn't a home, it's a bloody mausoleum of awful memories. You'll never find peace here. Clean it up, by all means, but don't stay here. You need new surroundings.'

He stared at her, astonished. She huffs, annoyed that she has to be the one to point out the obvious.

'Harry, I've been thinking it over and well... what we need now isn't for the bad part to be over. It is already. What we need is for the good part to begin. Let's go somewhere we can not only be rid of the bad, but where we can embrace the good, alright?'

After several moments of seemingly turning it over in his mind, he looks over at her, cautiously.

'I suppose you're right. When do we tell Ron?'


	5. Part 1: Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: So, as one might have noticed by now, this story is going to be a slow burner, and fairly long. I am practicing writing longer pieces with this, and as such this will likely end up novel-length (it almost is already, I have a large backlog). Hopefully it isn't completely unbearable even though it is only my first attempt.  
**

**Feedback is still most welcome :)  
**

**Chapter 5  
**

_June 1998 St. Mungo's Hospital_

'How are you feeling mrs. Lestrange?'  
'I... well, I don't...'

Bellatrix Lestrange burst into tears in front of no less than five Aurors, the Minister of Magic himself, and two Healers. Once she would have considered it humiliating, now she no longer cared much for her dignity.

'We've some things to discuss with you, madame Lestrange.' boomed the Minister, not much moved by her rather dramatic display of emotion.  
'I think you should know the terms of your incarceration, and how we are proceeding with you. These are things I feel everyone has the right to know.  
First, we've put a lock on your magic. Second, your assets have been seized to aid the Ministry in its recovery process. You should consider yourself under arrest, as a recently captured escaped convict. For the time being we will not start the trial preparations, as you have some health concerns that need to be addressed.  
The third thing I wanted to inform you of is that... we've had some security breaches. You will be moved to a containment location where you will reside until further notice, where there will be Healers to help with your... recovery.'

He considers her, with obvious distaste.

'That is all, I suppose. Good day to you.'

And he stalked out.

_I've spent the last 18 years working for freedom, and all I've earned myself is a smaller box in which to live. Sod it all. _When Bellatrix was dragged none too kindly from her bed by the Auror nearest her she did not protest.

_February 1962 Slytherin Common Room_

'Have you ever seen a Muggle, Rod?'  
'No, I haven't. But my father says that they are complete beasts. I wouldn't want to be around such filth, I shouldn't think.'  
'They're awfully dangerous, you know. Before the Statute they used to murder witches and wizards in droves. They burned them for the most part.'  
'I saw in 'A History of Magic' that it doesn't work most of the time. They're too stupid, can't do it right. Forget to take away their wands, see.'  
'Oh, it does work! My father told me all about it. They lie to us, Rod, the ones who like Muggles. But my father showed be some books that tell the truth about Muggles. They can kill us. Think about it, they killed that Gryffindor ghost, didn't they? They drown us and they burn us and they hate us all. Witches especially, though. That's why we can never go near them, my father says. They're too jealous of our magic and they'll kill us to get to it. Father won't even take us to our aunt and uncles' house in London except by Floo because they live in a Muggle area.'  
'Have you seen any Muggles there, then?'  
'Yes.'

Bellatrix's eyes shone with excitement. Her voice was a reverent whisper now.

'I've seen them walking around outside, but they can't see us, see? I can see them from the window in the library.'  
'What do they look like, then?'  
'Oh, well... they look very strange in their costumes, and... well, there's a sort of dullness about them. Like they're missing something.'  
'Wow.' Rodolphus beams at her conspiratorially.  
'My mother told me they burnt down our family's house before the Statute of Secrecy. There were lots of kids in the house, and they all died! It wasn't for any reason at all except our magic.'  
'That's horrible, Trix! That's why we came to Britain, too. In France, you're even expected to mingle with the filth.'

Rodolphus' face takes on a contemplative expression.

'Do you think the Mudbloods are like that, too?'  
'I don't know. My father says it's best to stay away from them. Just to be safe. They expose our world to Muggles, after all. They're not to be trusted.'

Rodolphus nods, and they lean over their Potions homework once more. It has been almost 6 months since they've first seen a Muggleborn but they haven't yet dared speak to one.


	6. Interlude No 1

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Just some light vignettes. Compare and contrast and all of that :)  
**

**Feedback is still most welcome!**

**Interlude no. 1**

_September 1, 1991 King's Cross Station, London England_

_Right, this is it. This is it. You can do this. People do this all the time. _Hermione practically tip-toes at the entrance while waiting for her parents to finish their study of the King's Cross station map on the wall. _I hope I've read enough about how things work to fit in. Please let me be normal, just please let me be normal. Oh, please! What if they don't like me either? _Her anxiety is running as high as it ever has on this foggy London morning.

As her parents lead her gently through the station to the appropriate platform her nerves finally kick into overdrive. _I know they'll hate me. _She was panicking now. _Everyone always does. Why should they be any different?_

When professor McGonagall had come to call on her and her parents, she had been taken aback, certainly, but really she had been intensely relieved to discover that she was not a freak of nature (at least not in a terribly negative way), and most important that there was indeed somewhere she truly belonged. And this muggle world was not it.

There were other children like her. What she could do really was magic.

The thought had kept her warm through the winter and summer. McGonagall had come to call already last autumn, when Hermione turned eleven. She had been given instructions on how to acquire all the equipment she would need for school in spring, and had promptly gotten everything ready when the time had come. She had spent the whole summer pouring over her school books and hoping beyond hope that she would be good enough in this new world. That other children would like her. That this would be the start of a wonderful life if she simply applied herself to make it so. Sure, she was eleven years behind, but she would do everything within her power to catch up, and hopefully eventually excel.

Now, standing by the barrier between platform nine and ten, she feels rather apprehensive and a bit queasy about the whole business. All the same, she tries a winning smile when she looks up at her parents.

'Alright, then. I better get going.' her voice cracks.  
'Oh, darling. We will miss you terribly, but you are going to have so much fun! Just you wait and see. Mum and I will see you at Christmas.'

They hug for what seems a really long time. Hermione clings to her fathers strong frame, wishing he could simply carry her away. Eventually she is forced to let go, and her mother gives her a kiss and assures her they will write to her every day if need be.

And then Hermione Granger steps through to Platform 9 and ¾, entering the world in which she really belongs for the very first time.

_September 1, 1962 King's Cross Station, London, England_

Bellatrix let go of her father's arm the moment she steadied herself on the platform. Portkey travel was not easy for an 11-year old, but her father had insisted once it became clear how terribly busy the Floo connection was. Lots of witches and wizards preferred to simply travel to Diagon Alley and then cross through the city and enter the platform like Muggles, but Bellatrix's father thought this distasteful and dangerous.

'Are you alright, my darling?' he inquires, smiling down at her.  
'I'm fine, father.' she brushes off her robes, trying not to show how ill she feels.  
'You did wonderful for your first time. It's alright to feel a bit sick.' he peers at her indulgently before looking around.

She takes his hand and leads him toward the great steam engine. She thinks it is fantastic, but knows her father doesn't really approve of it. Trains, it seems, are an old muggle invention that has made its way to Hogwarts simply for being practical for moving hundreds of children through the magical barriers protecting Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.

Her eyes are evidently a bit too wide at the sight of the train for her father not to notice, however.

'It is terribly impressive, isn't it?' he asks, amused.  
'A little bit, yes. I mean, I think so.' she beams. He sighs dramatically.  
'I suppose I better get with the times. I'll forgive the train.'

And they walk hand in hand through the platform, admiring the train together. Bellatrix is secretly glad mother is working today, as she would not take to the hustle and bustle. But her father strolls majestically with his fine emerald robes, his long black hair tied with a silver clasp, raised far above all the confusion and noise. Bellatrix looks eagerly around, clinging to her fathers hand. She's never seen so many children in one place before. She recognizes a few of them, but she feels a twinge of longing for her sisters all the same. She wishes they were here to share this with. Andromeda especially would like this, she thinks.

'Ah, here we are. There's a free compartment here.' her father peeks through a window. 'Let's get you on, shall we?'  
He consults his watch and grins at her.  
'My little warrior off to Hogwarts. I can hardly believe it.' he beams. 'You will have a wonderful time, my darling.'

Her worry must have shown, because he brings her in for a crushing hug. 'Do not worry. I am not worried, Bella. Not for you. I will miss you terribly, of course, but I know you will do well. Just remember your studies are always the most important, Bellatrix, and everything else will sort itself.'

'Will you write me?' she whispers.  
'Of course. Every day. I shall arrange for you to have the Prophet, as well. It is proper for a young witch to be up on the news. And of course, I am sure your sisters are composing their first letter already. You will have lots of post, don't worry.'

He draws her trunk out of his pocket and restores it to its original size before placing a Featherlight Charm on it and handing it over to her. She steps onto the train, waving at him as the train starts to move.


	7. Part 1: Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Short one, but I am still deciding between a few options on how I should proceed. I would very much love some reviews, so if you have one in you, let it out :) I am moving toward the end of the current arc, from whence we will proceed to the proverbial 'Part 2', where our pairing will come into play. Also, is giving me some annoying formatting problems. This will likely result in some occasional updates, as I discover these errors. Please let me know if anything is unclear.  
**

**Chapter 6  
**

_August 3, 1998, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, London_

The meeting has been set for 10 o'clock sharp. A rather vicious looking goblin is sitting across the table, staring at Hermione, Ron and Harry.

'So, I hear you have plans.' he says at last.

They all half-nod nervously.

'I rather think you should know our plan first. You three have quite a debt to pay.'

_August 7, 1998, Great Eastern Highway near Boorabbin National Park, Australia_

The sky is large in the Australian desert, stretching out endlessly above Hermione as she flies. She is following the road loosely, letting her mind wander without needing to pay too close attention to where she is going. She's cast a Disillusionment charm, and gotten her broom outfitted with one, as well.

She spots not a soul as she glides along. Her parents have agreed to let her stay with them for the time being.

'How are we even supposed to explain who you are? How are we to get our papers in order?'

'How did you forge our papers, anyway?'

'Where are our original passports? Are we even here legally, Hermione?'

Of course she had lied to Harry. Not about them being upset she'd done this, that wasn't it. But she hadn't known all one needs to know about muggle paperwork and about being an adult, and as such had made some blunders. She had been 17, and in spite of the dangers she had faced, living in a boarding school leaves one rather sheltered, after all.

'This isn't some witness protection Hollywood film, Hermione.' her father had scolded her.

So now, she would have to fix it. Luckily, this is the sort of thing the Ministry of Magic can help with, if one knows who to talk to. Relocating the Granger family seems prudent now that the the Wilkinses will cease to exist. There is a man she needs to see.

* * *

_August 25 1998 _

'Well, Bellatrix. How are you settling in?' the Healer asks her.

She just stares at her. There is absolutely nothing to say.

'Alright, let's get started then. Can you recall for me a happy memory?'

She can indeed. _I have just the thing to show you__, you silly witch. _She grins as she lets the Healer into her mind.

_October 1997, Diagon Alley, London England_

Bellatrix Apparates and lands decisively on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley for her first public shopping trip in a very long time._ I suppose it must have been... 16 years?_ she muses. Her legs stretch and she can feel the wind on her face and the sun burning in her eyes as she makes her way through the dilapidated shopping area. The streets bear unmistakable signs of war, of despair. _It will get better, once my Lord has some time. The future will be glorious. _She smiles.

The elation she feels as she giddily strides up the street is not even slightly marred by the wandless people moaning and screaming at her. Despair hardly registers anymore. She kicks a man, hard, when he tries to grab her. His face bleeds, and she grins. It's a beautiful day, and she is free.

_August 25 1998 _

The Healer pulls abruptly back.

'Alright, that's... well. So, you're not settling in so well, then?'

She smiles her most poisonous smile.


	8. Part 1: Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Short one, but I am still deciding between a few options on how I should proceed. I would very much love some reviews, so if you have one in you, let it out :) I am moving toward the end of the current arc, from whence we will proceed to the proverbial 'Part 2', where our pairing will come into play. Also, is giving me some annoying formatting problems. This will likely result in some occasional updates, as I discover these errors. Please let me know if anything is unclear.  
**

**Chapter 7**

_July 27th 2002, Port Musgrave, Mapoon, Queensland, Australia_

The harbour of Port Musgrave was a bustling wizarding area completely unknown to muggles. A small Aboriginal community existed here, but since long before their arrival, and before the arrival of the British, before even the Statute of Secrecy, this port had been a specifically magical area, founded by Aboriginal wizards. To the muggles, it appeared as a shallow bay important mostly as a breeding area for saltwater crocodiles. To wizards, it was a vibrant harbour and a bustling town with renowned magical educational institutions and Australia's largest Portkey connecting point.

To Hermione, it was home. Ron and Harry had left again for Britain after a wonderful week together, and she still had another week before her next excursion would commence, so she curled up in her favourite wing-backed chair preparing to read, for the first time, _Madman at the door: A critical history of the British Wizarding War _by Griselda Twiddleberk, eminent magical historian. It was thought, at least outside of Britain, to be a definitive volume on the subject, if the reviews were to be believed. Within Britain, people rumble about unflattering portrayals and the opening up of old wounds.

Hermione had been forwarded a complimentary copy of the text by the author herself, although Twiddleberk had preferred to work almost entirely from the Pensieve Depositions and older interviews for any information Hermione (and everyone else) might possess, and had only conducted a short interview regarding Hermione's feelings on the whole mess now rather than go into any depth of her past experience. She didn't mind, really, but was curious to see how accurate Twiddleberks information truly was, and to perhaps catch a glimpse of her younger self viewed firmly through someone else's retrospect.

She has come to accept, after many visits back to Britain, that her involvement was instrumental and that she will figure fairly prominently in all histories of the matter. She's been forwarded copies of plenty of other histories of the war, and of her role in it, before. However, she has not had any interest in reading any of them, still busily trying to hold on to her ownership of a difficult past. Her experience should be, such as it was, her own. It should be uncoloured by the official accounts, she has always maintained.

Twiddleberk is, of course, a whole other matter. Hermione will not let this be the only text of hers that she does not read. She is also actually interested in Twiddleberks interpretation of the situation.

She ran her hands carefully across the cover, admiring the engraved symbol of the Hallows, flaming red against a black background where one can see, in the right light, a ring of the six Horcruxes surrounding it, engraved. It was ominous, but beautiful. The back cover had an angry golden slash shaped very much like a familiar lightning bolt scar.  
She began to read, scanning quickly through Twiddleberks' foreword wherein she explains her intention with the book (to shed light on a complex and oft misunderstood tragic political reality) and to discuss the implications. Some proceeds from the sale will be donated to St. Mungo's Hospital, Hermione is informed, and she smiled, remembering the kindly Healers who provided so much help and relief to everyone, herself included.

When she at last starts on the main text, she is indeed quite surprised at the portrayal she finds. It is hauntingly familiar, though she is jolted ever so often with information she never knew. It often throws her own memories into such a sharp new context that she becomes quite uncertain if she truly wants to read what Twiddleberk has to say about her exploits.

A sudden knock on the door interrupts her, and as she flings herself toward the door she barely registers that already the cogs in her mind have started turning the situation around, preparing her for yet another set of nightmares. They have gotten more intermittent over the years, but they are still prominent enough that she has never had anyone sleep over and not comment, except fellow nightmare sufferers. When Harry, Ron or Ginny visit, they often stay up through the night, drinking butterbeer and quietly sharing memories. When she visits her parents they bring her tea and water in the middle of the night, and they sit with her, always looking worried and gaunt. They know now roughly what has happened, and their accusations of her rashness when concealing them have entirely subsided.

She flings open her front door, and is left speechless.

She is confronted, at this of all possible moments, with Andromeda Tonks towering in her doorway looking very much like her malevolent sister, and she is thrown so forcefully into her own history again as to almost slam the door in Andromeda's face.

'May I come in?' Andromeda inquires as Hermione steadies herself.  
'Of course.' she answers after a beat, leaving the door open for her guest.

They settle quietly in the sitting room, Hermione in her chair and Andromeda on the sofa. Hermione summons tea. The noon sun is beating brightly against her windows, and Andromeda casts a silent spell that Hermione assumes is some sort of cooling charm.

'I haven't much time, so I'll just be direct. This isn't a social call.' Andromeda deadpans. 'I've come to offer you a job.'  
'I... I already have a job.' Hermione hesitates. Andromeda snorts.  
'Is that what you call it? Retrieving treasure for the goblins? Do you know how much an ordinary curse-breaker in this part of the world gets in wages? You're hardly to be considered an employee. You are merely paying a debt.'

She casts a scorning look at Hermione.

'A debt which, I might add, should have been paid in full by now.'

Hermione swallows, feeling her cheeks grow hot and her heart beating loudly in her ears.

'I... might have re-negotiated my agreement to include some... opportunities to secure my financial situation.'

Andromeda laughs.

'Oh, I know all about the agreement you have with them. Nevertheless, you have been fully trained for years, and this treasure hunting is useless now. You're needed at home, you see.'

Hermione finds she is almost speechless.

'Hermione, I am here to offer you a position in the Department of Mysteries effective immediately, should you choose to accept. You'd be trained as an Unspeakable. Continuing down the path of curse-breaking is of course not entirely optimal for you. You can be so much more! We've kept our eye on your progress, you see, and have decided to... requisition you. You've a keen mind for research. You've a keen mind for a lot of the things we do, in fact.'

'I... I didn't even know you worked for the Department of Mysteries.'

'I'm the Head of Department now, actually. No one knows apart from those who need to, as is customary, although I'm sure some have guessed. It's usually one of us old purebloods, you know, and one without the usual politics attached. You didn't think all those pureblood supremacists were protecting secrets of no importance, did you?'

This is such an entirely unexpected and intriguing confession that Hermione already knows she will accept the offer.


	9. Part 1: Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Thank you to my three kind reviewers! I truly appreciate your words of encouragement. More reviews most welcome, by the way!  
**

**Chapter 8**

_July 7, 2003 The Leaky Cauldron, London_

'You have got to be joking!'  
'What?'  
'This can't be music, this is mad!'  
'It's music...' Hermione frowned at Ron 'Muggle music, but still just music...'  
'Why is it so bloody strange, then?'  
'I can't believe I've neglected to show you this, but.. I suppose this is your first time hearing electronic music?'  
_'You can make MUSIC with electricity?'  
_'Bloody hell, Ron. I've told you muggles use electricity for damn near everything, haven't I? Keep your voice down!'  
'And what did you call this again?'  
'It's a walkman. A bit out of fashion now, but I couldn't resist getting this. It reminds me of when I was little, taking car trips with my parents, you know... childhood stuff.'  
'Merlins pants, Hermione! This is insane, bloody insane! It isn't going to blow up, is it?' Ron holds the walkman gingerly, running his fingertips over it with some apprehension.  
'Ronald! I've explained electricity to you a hundred times. It is perfectly safe! Give it back, will you?'  
'Hang on, hang on! I want to listen some more! It's completely bonkers!'

It is one of those moments where it is just so very clear to her what she has given up to be here. Namely, everything normal. Rolling her eyes, she turns her attention away from Ron and concentrates her gaze around the room. The Leaky Cauldron has once again become a rowdy place, full of witches and wizards enjoying themselves. A bemused Harry is watching Ron, but turns to let his gaze wander the crowd as well once Ron sinks deeper into the music. They're always doing this, she thinks. Keeping watch, wherever they are. And personally, Hermione isn't altogether convinced the walkman will not give out any moment from the the residual magic in the air, whatever she says to Ron.

'Wow. You know, for all I don't like Pansy Parkinson, she's really rather striking these days, isn't she?'  
_'What?'  
_'Oh, come on. The haircut, Harry! It's done wonders for her, frankly. The cow.'  
'Are you feeling alright?' he sniggers.  
'I've recently learned the art of gossip, can you tell?'

Letting out a small chuckle Hermione straightens to look at Harry. 'On a more serious note it was her and Slughorn who helped evacuate the kids once they were all in the Hog's Head, you know. They are considering getting her an Order of Merlin, a bit belatedly.'  
'Blimey, things have changed.' his gaze momentarily travels to somewhere far off before commenting rather casually, 'She was perfectly willing to sell me to Voldemort before the battle, though, wasn't she?'  
'But she wasn't willing to sell eleven year-olds to Voldemort. It's... well, I suppose she isn't a beacon of morality, but who is? I'm not the one to cast the first stone on any moral issue either way, as Rita Skeeter kindly reminded me yesterday when requesting a comment on your new job.'  
'Oh yeah? What did you say?''  
'I said you were obviously not keen to talk since Rita had to come to me for comment so perhaps she ought to work out any _bugs_ in her story and get back to me later. As for Parkinson, it seems like she was only willing to sell you to keep everyone else safe. She didn't have much to do with the Carrows, either. Turns out Cruciatis just isn't her curse.'  
'Where do you get all this stuff?' Harry stares at her, astonished.  
'As I said, I've learnt how to gossip. Which means from Ginny, really. Once you've read all that books have to offer, the only information left to mine is that which comes directly from people, she reckons. I found out about Parkinson from Percy.'

They turn back to their drinks for a moment before Hermione steels herself, gets up and walks over to the girl sitting alone at a far table. Pansy Parkinson looks nothing less than terrified.

'Hello' she starts awkwardly.  
'I'll leave, I'll leave, just please don't make a scene, I swear I don't mean any harm!' Pansy squeaks, shaking.  
'Uhm... Pansy? I just wanted to say hello, see how you were doing. It's been a long time.'  
'Oh. Uh... well, I suppose... I uh, I've been... well that is to say I've been alright. And yourself?'

Pansy's voice cracks on the last syllable, and somehow, in this case of her old school enemy, that is all the apology Hermione needs for everything that has ever happened.  
It takes a while, but in the end it turns out Pansy Parkinson is rather pleasant these days. That much could not be said of everyone else in the magical world, though, if her reactions are to be believed. It is, of course, understandable. Everyone in Britain is a little broken, after all. Pansy has been broken in a rather endearing sort of way, Hermione thinks.

There is a moment when she is really rather drunk and she sees Pansy there in front of her as Harry attempts conversation, and nothing is the same and this new person is so gentle that she reaches through the tension and she presses her mouth against a very soft pair of lips that taste of alcohol.

...

Staggering home at 3 in the morning together has never felt more difficult or more wonderful than it does tonight. The darkness seems deeper and warmer than usual, the city lights blink brighter. Hermione holds on to Harry to keep from falling over as Ron leans heavily into her. They catch their portkey at the Portkey station in Diagon Alley and when they reach the hallway of their flat they collapse, all tangled limbs and hysterical laughs, shoes and coats flying everywhere. After each of them has forced down a glass of water (Hermione insist they always do this, it is cheaper than hangover potions), they bid each other goodnight and Harry staggers to his room, Ron to his. Hermione thinks on it for only a moment, and perhaps it is the firewhiskey thinking for her, but she follows to Ron's room.

...

It is exactly 10 AM when Hermione exits Ron's room after a bit of a lie-in only to discover, as she attempts to scarper into her own room without having to see Harry's look of amusement, that they have a visitor.  
Of all the visitors Hermione thought they were likely to have in this flat, the Dursleys had not been high on her list, but she needs only a cursory glance at the blonde man sitting on the sofa to be certain that this has to be none other than the famous Dudley Dursley. She yelps her surprise, and hurries through her washing and dressing so she may support Harry during what must be an awkward visit.

The boys sit on the couch immersed in the most loaded silence Hermione has ever been witness to when she plops down on a chair, hair still damp and her comfiest blue robes on (really, what else could one wear to greet a Dursley?), ready to make nice. Harry attempts an introduction.

'Dudley, this is Hermione. Hermione, this is my cousin Dudley. You've met before, right?'  
They stare at each other, though there is no malice in Dudley's eyes that Hermione can see. Harry stares at the floor. Finally, Hermione can take no more.

'Dudley is a bit of an unusual name, isn't it?'  
'So is Hermione.' smiles Harry, visibly relieved.  
'It is, isn't it? I think my parents only named me Hermione because they thought it was a bit clever, to be honest. It's from Shakespeare.'  
'Mum is obsessed with British history. I think she specifically meant to name me for Robert Dudley, favourite to Queen Elizabeth the 1st. She's got a painting of him in the sitting room and everything.'

The astonishment on Harry's face could not be plainer.

'That's fascinating.' Hermione encourages, 'Would you like some tea then, Sir Dudley?' she smiles. Harry visibly relaxes when Dudley confirms his wish for tea and Hermione simply summons the damn teapot and teacups because, well, Dursley. His eyes aren't quite wide enough for it to be satisfying, though, and she remembers suddenly that he has at one time spent an entire year being guarded by wizards.

'It's been a while since I've seen that.' he comments, amused, when she points her wand at the tea which promptly places itself in the pot. Pointing her wand at the pot she aims first a silent _Aguamenti_, then adds a heating charm. Steam rises from the spout of the pot, and after a while it begins pouring tea into their cups of its own accord. Doing this now, for the first time in front of a Muggle, she recognizes again how truly amazing it is. Magic. She can do magic.

'So, Hermione, what do you... er, do?'  
'I'm an Unspeakable.'  
'Surprisingly, she's not allowed to talk about it.' Harry grins. Dudley laughs.

'She is, however, obligated to talk about last night. Or did I not see you snog, of all bloody people, Pansy Parkinson, last night?' Harry's faux tone of shock isn't enough to not make her blush at the accusation.

'I... might've. She had just... changed so much and I uh... appreciated it?' she tries to explain.  
'With your mouth.' Harry sniggers.

Dudley Dursley looks a bit shocked now, though still friendly.

'Oh, Harry. You've done worse, don't even start. It was just... we had a moment.'  
'Of snogging.'  
'Right.'

They burst out laughing, and soon Dudley cautiously joins in.

_August 5 2003 Ministry of Magic, London_

'Hello, miss Granger. Have a seat.'  
'Hello. You can call me Hermione, Minister, you know me.' she smiles nervously 'No need to be so formal.'  
'Very well, Hermione. Are you comfortable? Would you like some tea?'

When Hermione nods some tea appears in front of her. She clings to the cup. Being called to the office of the Minister has her rather nervous.

'Your academic record - you passed all your N.E. with Outstandings, is that correct?'  
'Yes, Minister. And I've apprenticed as a Curse Breaker prior to my current position.'  
'Yes, most excellent. I hate to see how many people have had their education interrupted by the war. Most unfortunate.' he ruminates.  
'I hope you're settling in well here at the Ministry?' he inquires, and she nods.  
'Oh, that's good. Good. Well, you see, I need your assistance with a project. After much consideration of the possible candidates, madame Tonks and I have decided that you are the most suited, so she has kindly lent you to me.'

He smiles brightly at her.

'You are, if I may say so, exceptionally talented. Not everyone can do small weather-working by the time they're twenty.' he twinkles at her knowingly.  
'Oh. Well, eh... thank you, Minister. That's very kind of you.' A rosy blush is spreading over her face. She does love praise, especially when it reflects so much effort.  
'The Ministry has sadly lost many of it's finest, a loss from whence we are still suffering, I'm afraid. We need those with talent and skill and intelligence now more than ever, as we are so sorely lacking specialists. Luckily, we've now got you.'

This is, even by Hermione Grangers' reckoning, laying it on thick as far as flattery goes. Basically saying he thinks of her as some sort of expert already? She shoots Kingsley a sceptical glance – nothing that needs this much flattery can be particularly pleasant.

'Well, let me get down to business then, shall I?' he smiles at her, and she notes it is rather nervous.

'There is, well...It is simply a matter of a small, or that is to say, a rather large actually... eh, favour of sorts.' the Minister himself is fumbling his words now.  
'We cannot afford to let the knowledge of anyone go to waste at this crucial juncture. Even those with abhorrent crimes in their past hold secrets worth preserving. We need someone to... oh, let me just be clear, Hermione. We've fought side by side. I need someone to take over the care of one particular remaining Death Eater. I'd rather not house all of them in the same prison, if it's all the same and well... I'd rather catch two birds with one stone if you understand me. We rather lack solid documentation on the workings of Voldemorts inner circle, you see. I know your specialty is Soul Magic, and as such your specific abilities will come to good use in this case. We need you because, well... rehabilitating Bellatrix Lestrange has proven less successful than we'd hoped. She possesses too much valuable information to be simply stored away just yet, you see, and while she's made great progress her soul healing has not been particularly successful which I thought could be of interest to you. To be clear, this would hopefully be a permanent solution. I do not mean to house her in any regular prison ever again. In fact, I rather hope we can get rid of those altogether. Housing wizards and witches against their will... one has to get rather severe in method before it works and I've rather lost the taste for that sort of thing.'

He pauses just long enough to draw a breath.

'Mrs. Lestrange has yet to undergo a successful deposition as we can't quite access her memories. We've seen enough to put a trial together, but there is much more there. I'd like you to Heal her and deposition her.'

_Oh shit_. Hermione blinks at the Minister. _Shit shit shit. _Catching her breath she gives a shaky sort of toss of her head. It is meant to convey confidence, but she does not need to look further than the Ministers' face to see it has utterly failed and she shrinks back, scrunching her forehead and rubbing her temples with her fingers.

'You are certain I am the only option, I presume?'  
'I am afraid so. We need somebody with very specific talents for this. Mrs. Lestrange has... well, she isn't quite what we expected her to be. I assure you she would be perfectly harmless, and once healed you'll hardly need to bother with her. It turns out to be quite lucky for us that she survived, really. All that knowledge of Voldemorts? Well, it seems he passed most of it to Madame Lestrange. Now she has a chance to repair at least some of the damage she has done, and we intend to use her for it.'  
'Right.' Hermione bites her lip. 'And what a great relief that will be for the victims and their families, I'm sure.' she can't help but add in an icy voice. _This is bloody ridiculous, _she thinks bitterly.

'Yes, well... that is the way it has to be, I'm afraid. Vengeance cannot be our only motivation for justice.' he takes a nervous sip of his tea in a very un-Kingsley like moment before he considers her, and finally composes himself.  
'I thought you might understand, Hermione, that there are things more important than punishing the guilty. Creating a life worth living for the innocent is, in my book, the highest priority of all. I am building a new society and was under the impression you understood that. You have always seemed supportive of it, at any rate.' The gaze he fixes her with burns in its intensity.  
'Of course, Minister. Forgive me.' she says, but it is half-hearted at best.

'For the more... official project I am offering you... well, we need someone to oversee the magic of the Isle of Poseidon. We haven't got anyone fully trained to do this, and you seem to be the best candidate to be apprenticed. This would also be a great place to permanently contain mrs. Lestrange, which is where that all comes in. You will be given the necessary training, and you will simply be posted as an Unspeakable and Ward master. No one will know of your other mission, nor of mrs. Lestranges' residency. You will, in short, receive a hybrid education for both projects, and the documentation work with mrs. Lestrange would take place once you're at the island and then hopefully you could... keep an eye on her there.'

'You want me to start with that, don't you?'  
The look he casts her is answer enough.  
'Hermione... well, the island is not yet inhabited, and getting mrs. Lestrange situated and evaluated before anyone else arrives would indeed be an advantage.'  
Hermione steels herself, gathering all the Gryffindor courage she can muster.  
'I'll need to meet with her first. I don't know if I can do it, Kingsley.' she looks directly at him when using his name. This is not a professional matter, it is personal, and she needs him to know that, needs him to know what he is asking of her. 'She tortured me.'  
He has the grace to look uncomfortable. 'I know.' he replies. 'I've seen it.'

_Stupid Pensieve_, she replies bitterly to herself as she slips out of the Ministers' office. _Not even bloody memories are private for the Golden Trio. _She pulls a face before entering the lift.

...

She returns to the flat in Diagon Alley in a daze.

'What's wrong?' Ron asks, looking as innocently incredulous as always, as though no one could ever be mad enough to think something is less than perfect when they are in the presence of Ronald Bilius Weasley, master of dismissing all concerns as ludicrous so long as there is enough food. She flings her arms around him.

'Kingsley wants to give me a new job.' she half-sobs.  
'I can see why that is upsetting, obviously, but I assure you being a Ministry paper-pusher will not actually kill you, Hermione.'  
'Ron! Honestly, you're horrible.' she smiles into his shoulder, relishing the comfort of his warm sweater and strong, angular shoulders as he grins at her affectionately.

They sit down on the couch Ron has purchased for them, brand-new, to be spell-proof and stain-proof. It is uncharacteristically tasteful and exceptionally comfortable. Ronald Weasley has grown into a man who appreciates style and invests his Galleons wisely. Hermione thinks Ron also feels it important that people know he has some gold now, although neither her nor Harry would ever point that particular motivation out to him.

'He wants me to be the... resident Unspeakable researcher of Isle of Poseidon. To do the security and magical upkeep and all that.'  
'Seems reasonable enough. You can do that, Hermione, no problem.'  
'Yes, yes, that isn't the problem. Managing the wards of Isle of Poseidon actually sounds extremely interesting. The problem is that... well, that Isle of Poseidon will be the containment location for Bellatrix Lestrange. Which means I'd be in charge of her safety and well-being, and Kingsley also wants me to... mine her for information on the war and dark magic and bloody Voldemort.'

The look of disgust and incredulity on Ron's face is ever so satisfying.

'He can't be serious? She tortured you! She killed Sirius!'  
'Actually, she didn't kill Sirius, at least not officially, although a brief glance at her formal conviction informed me she's killed at least 27 other people if that's any consolation.' she remarks drily.

'He's gone mad! That's barking mad, that is! Hold on!'

At that Ron runs off into the kitchen to attend to their impending meal, swearing loudly and cursing Bellatrix Lestrange, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Ministry of Magic and, inexplicably, Harry. The latter turns out to simply be because Harry is late for supper.

...

'He's packing off all the Death Eaters with different Unspeakables, and even a few Healers. No one knows who has any of them, apparently. It's all very secret.' Harry informs her over dinner.

'How do you know, then?' Ron questions, incredulously.  
'McGonagall told me.'

Ron snorts at this and stabs his fork through a piece of roast beef.

'S'not all that secret if everyone is being told about it.' he mutters darkly.

'Well, I was only told because I'll be helping oversee visitation for some of the children over the holidays. I think I was chosen because they assumed Hermione would tell me, to be honest.'

...

'It feels like I'm lying, you know. I mean, Kingsley certainly knows the story and I'm not sure why he pretends it's different... but it still feels dishonest.'  
'We've all got to pretend, Hermione. It isn't as if any of us has a normal professional background.'  
'It's not an equal comparison, Harry. You're not a recently released hostage.'  
'You could've just paid them off, Hermione. I've always maintained you should've let Harry handle it and -'  
'Ron! You know I couldn't. The dragon was... well, I had to make my reparations.'  
'And my teaching isn't reparations?' Harry shoots in.  
'Well, personally I am not concerned with any reparations, especially not in my business of importing and adapting muggle objects so wizards and muggles can more easily communicate and understand each other.'  
'Ronald Weasley, master of sarcasm. I never thought this day would come.' Harry grinned.

Hermione sighs, exasperated. In a way, it had been easier when Harry and Ron were clueless teenage boys. These young men are far too difficult to win arguments with.

'It isn't the same. You know it's true, so stop it, alright? There were no goblins demanding you be their slave for years in exchange for your re-entry to Britain.'  
'You make it sound so bloody dramatic, though.' Ron rolled his eyes, 'You could've said no. I did, I negotiated my payment and I've made them. So did Harry. Merlin, I made my payments with money I collected from _peddling_ your inventions! You chose to apprentice with them and retrieve treasure in exchange for your reparations. Choosing slavery makes it not slavery, remember?'  
'It is our choices that makes us who we are, Hermione.' Harry boomed sombrely.  
'Oh, for the love of all that is holy, are you quoting Dumbledore to win arguments now?'

They all burst out laughing at this ridiculousness, and trying to bring the subject up again over dessert proves fruitless. Clearly, this is getting her nowhere. Sympathy has, after all, never been a strong suit for either of the boys except in cases of actual peril. Some things, luckily, will never change.

'You just don't understand. I was excited, really, to be apprenticing with them. I thought of it mostly as an opportunity until I had signed the contract and then... well, the goblins aren't quite the same once they've got you to boss around, you know. They weren't under any doubt that I was a criminal being held against my will for punishment.'  
'Did you end up becoming an actual curse-breaker?' Ron demands, pointing his fork at her as he is wont to do.  
'Well, yes...'  
'And did you even earn quite a bit of treasure for yourself in the end?'  
'Oh, for Merlin's... fine, Ron. You win. It isn't important what the Minister thinks.'  
'Are you going to take the job?'  
'I don't know. Do you think McGonagall would hire me if I quit now?'


	10. Part 1: Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything, I own nothing.**

**A/N: Alright, here we are at the last installment of part 1. It has been a difficult one, trying to decide what information to include. It's a fairly light one, as a result. The next installment is another 'intermission', and it's a beast that will perhaps take a while. I think it is an entirely necessary addendum so you, dearest readers, can deduce where I stand on canon with this story. So I will have to persevere in the writing of it.  
**

**I truly value and appreciate any feedback you might have, so please review!**

**Chapter 9**

_September 2, 2003 Hastings, England_

'I'm here to see Lestrange.'  
The Aurors nod at her. 'She's got no wand and the wards keep her in there. So go ahead. She can't hurt you.'

Hermione moved forward, when one of the Aurors, a tall scruffy-looking man, added in a low voice, 'And we respectfully submit that you do not attempt to kill her, please, however tempting it might be. We don't much fancy the paperwork. We've just barely patched her up from the last visitor.'  
Throwing him a look, she proceeded through the door and into a hallway. _I guess this is why Kingsley wants me to take over as warden, _she mused toward the sitting room she could feel the wards move in around her, permeating the air, bouncing off her skin. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. This was a bad idea. Trauma, the soul healer called it back then. Trauma. The source of a great deal of her trauma was on the other end of this hallway. _Am I ready to deal with this again_ she wondered as she walked carefully on the carpeted floor. As she moved closer her thoughts became more frantic. This woman was evil. Why was she doing this again? Oh, yes, Bellatrix Lestrange was also a brilliant, shiny walking tank of information that nobody else wanted to deal with. Right.

And suddenly, there she was. Wearing a straggly pair of black robes, her hair wild and unkempt, eyes dead. She shrunk into the sofa like a frightened animal, shivering. She was smaller than she loomed in Hermione's nightmares. Thin. Ragged. Small.

Defeated.

It was not so difficult to take her seat across from Lestrange, after all. She had the upper hand. _She may have tortured me, but I won in the end. I've been in that body. She's only human. _She's not quite sure if trying to convince herself of the latter is working, in spite of what she sees before her.

'Madame Lestrange, have they told you why I'm here to see you?'  
'No.' her voice was quiet, childlike, although no longer in that unsettling crazed way Hermione had heard so many times before. 'They don't tell me anything.'  
'Do you... remember me?'  
A whisper. 'Yes.' Violent shivers follow.

_I take it the Essence of Remorse worked, then. Good. _She has no interest in feeling bad for this woman, even if she dimly recognizes those shivers as the lingering effect of being tortured once too many rather than the shivers of guilt.  
Bellatrix seemed decidedly harmless now, so that was at least settled. It's really all she needed to know.  
Hermione muses that she has truly spent an extraordinary portion of her life being frightened of this rather feeble womans' cause. Her teenage years were spent in a perpetual state of being terrified for her life and the life of her friends. But things have changed around her, and she realizes that finally, she too truly has changed. She has fought, and fought again, and she has been victorious. This is the moment, Hermione thinks, she can stop being afraid. Death Eaters were only people, after all. Some of them powerful, yes, but she was more powerful now. The woman before her looked like she could be shattered easily, and she was supposed to be the most powerful of them all.

'Very well. I am simply here to assess you, which... well, I think I'm finished, actually. I assume they'll tell you in due course what the next step will be. You'll hear from me as well, I'm sure.'

Hermione gets up and starts to approach the woman sitting opposite her, but she catches herself in time. _I don't need to be polite. I don't need to shake her hand. She'll be given to me to do with as I please if I say the word. _She turned and walked away, not looking back.

_..._

_September 2, 2003 Tonks residence, outside Hailsham, East Sussex England_

'Could I... talk to you?'  
'Certainly.' Andromeda Tonks put down her grandson and followed Hermione into the garden, her emerald robes billowing lightly around her. The sun was shining brightly and while the warmth was welcome the September glare was not, so they took refuge under a tree. Sitting in the shade on a conjured bench, Andromeda leant back and cast a sideways glance at her visitor through the wild curls framing her elegant jawline, marking her so very obviously as the sister of a madwoman.

'So, what is it? Something the matter?'  
'Well, yes. Actually. Oh, this is difficult to ask... but, well -'  
'Is it my sister?' Andromeda interrupted shrewdly.

Hermione nodded shamefacedly to her shoes, uncertain if the subject was too painful for Andromeda.

'Kingsley told me you went to see her. I suspect I know what you're looking for, but I don't know that I have any answers for you.'  
'Tell me about her. Please. It would help to know what I am getting into should I say yes.'

Andromeda looked at her, clearly sizing her up.

'She was brilliant, as you know. Kind and funny and gentle once, too. An excellent sister. The two of us are only a year apart, and we've always looked so similar people thought we were twins growing up. We were always together, running around the grounds, zooming along on our toy broomsticks, you know the sort of thing. There weren't any other children around, really, but it didn't matter. She was wonderful. We bickered continuously from birth until I was 18, of course, but in a sisterly way. She was a judgmental cow at times, certainly, and she took the pureblood nonsense our parents spouted a bit more to heart than me, but still. She was lovely to me until the day I married Ted, however much she disapproved.'  
'She's just so different from what I thought she'd be. I was prepared to confront my worst nightmare again, and then she was just... someone else.'  
'I know. She tends to be... well, I hated my family for a long time, especially her. She's very intense and focused and it was very disconcerting to have her focus all her hatred on me. She was a right bitch when I left and I feared for my life and Ted's life for a long while. But the fact remains that Ted and I weren't killed off by Death Eaters through all those years, nor did they take much of a shot at Dora until the end. Narcissa wouldn't have, of course, but Bellatrix? I would have believed anything of her. But I am not a fool' Andromeda drew herself up and the glint in her eye marked her more clearly a Black than anything Hermione had seen of her before, 'Bellatrix does not miss unless she wants to miss. She had a clear shot at my daughter at least twice, and myself countless times. We wouldn't have been difficult for her to get to, especially before we got involved with the Order. And yet, here I sit.'  
'Here you sit.' she nodded.

It was all she could say. It seemed her way forward was clear.

_..._

_September 19, 2003: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England_

She had expected blood, gore, illness, death. Everything from the most grisly, to the truly touching or the absolutely maddening even, had all been duly expected. But when Hermione stepped through the door on the 5th floor she was confronted with Draco bloody Malfoy wearing full Healer robes and... well. She had not expected _that_ at all.

'Hello.' she tried uncertainly, and he looked up from the parchment floating in front of him. His eyebrows shot up and he stared at her, shellshocked.  
'I didn't know you were a Healer.' she continued, trying to stir him from his evident stupor.

He recovered slightly, now looking mostly startled.

'Well, I... I, well... I am.' he finished lamely, flushing red. 'I better be off.' he practically squeaks before dashing down the hall.

Hermione watched him go. She had known, of course, that he'd not been convicted of any crime and that he'd spent a very long time in a closed ward in St. Mungo's. She had not known that he'd never left.

Continuing down the rather deserted corridor she reached a locked door that demanded she hold out her badge for inspection. This must be the closed ward where she'd be learning Soul Healing, advanced memory charming and some Legilimency to boot.

Only ten minutes passed before she realized that Healer Malfoy works in this department.

_..._

_October 15 2003, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London_

'I often think how different things would have been without the first war hanging over Slytherin.' Draco sighs. 'We were all so weighed down by everything. We wanted to be on the right side of history, you know. To not be ashamed of ourselves or of our parents. We wanted them to be right so badly. If everyone had simply admitted they were wrong we could probably have avoided the second war altogether.'

_..._

_October 23, 2003, Ministry of Magic, London England_

'I do not truly understand what it is you want me to do! Is it really so important to keep her alive?'  
'Until we've got her full deposition, I'd say yes, it is.' Kingsley boomed, evidently annoyed.  
'Why can't she just stay with the Aurors, then?'  
'It's too big of a risk. We've not yet been able to keep any of them from cursing her left right and centre, and frankly I am at a loss for how a Healer would contain her. You've already got most of the needed training, you've got a position that enables us to easily hide Lestrange, and you've got the ethics not to kill or torture her. It's easiest if it's you. The less people involved, the less mess.'  
'It's not right, Kingsley. I've spent enough time dealing with the likes of her in my life.' she tries to throw it at him, hoping for guilt.  
'Oh, excuse me, Hermione, while I cry in a corner for you.' pipes up Andromeda. 'Some of us have been dealing with these people since the 1960s so perhaps you can just put on your patience cap and pipe down, can't you?'

A stunned silence followed. Andromeda blushed.

'So, I've taken after Ted's way of expressing himself a bit over the years...' she mumbled, the blush growing deeper. Finally, clearing her throat, she pressed on.  
'Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has quite a few questions for Be... Lestrange, as well. Some of the magic Voldemort used... well, we want to know about it. There is also the security question, and the Department of Mysteries has quite a strong record of keeping things secret that need to be, unlike the Auror department.'

_..._

_October 23, 2003, Portkey Main Office, Ashford Kent _

'Stop sulking, Hermione.' Ron grumbled as he circled several posts on a rather complicated map he had spread over his desk.  
'I'm not sulking! I just... I think it's bloody ridiculous, is all.'  
'Well, I've got enough on my mind, so give me a hand instead, alright?'  
'You're really doing it, then?'  
'Five dimensions, complete British grid, 50 stations.' he smiled broadly. 'Limerick to Hogsmeade 10 times a day! All approved.'  
'I never should have given you that physics text.' she smiles back.  
'Yeah, well, no more sodding apparition for me, at least.'  
'I've really gotten quite fond of apparition myself.' she confessed idly, taking a closer look at the map.  
'Well... I'm not saying it isn't a cool party trick or that it hasn't saved our lives, but it also nearly took my arm off, so now I don't have to use it, I don't want to.'

Flashing him a smile, Hermione crossed around the table to reach for a diagram.

'I hear you've got yourself a new girlfriend as well as a new job.'  
Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.

'I think you have to actually go out with somebody at least once before they're your girlfriend, Hermione. Bloody Ginny, don't listen to her!'  
'When's that particular social occasion taking place, then?'  
'Tomorrow, as a matter of fact.'  
'Who is it?'  
'Wouldn't you like to know?' he grinned before deadpanning. 'It's Pansy Parkinson. Is she a good kisser?'

She punched him in the shoulder and he grinned at her.

'Alright, alright!' he exclaimed, raising his hands above his elbows. 'I give up. It's actually Lisa Turpin.'  
She fell back to her seat.  
'The Ravenclaw girl?'  
'Well, yeah.' he replied, a bit sheepishly.  
'With the...?'  
'Indeed.' he grinned. She laughed.  
'Lisa Turpin with the gigantic tits is your date?'  
'She is indeed.'  
'Well, that's very exciting. Good for you, Ron.' she smiled at her friend, genuinely happy for him.

'I am fairly excited about it myself.' he paused, 'You know who you should ask about their love life, though, is Tonks. I hear she has got herself a new girlfriend.'  
'Really? Someone young and attractive and working in the Department of Mysteries, perhaps?'  
'So it's true! You're going out with her!'  
'I am not, but I have heard the rumours. She's actually going out with Angelina Johnson. I'm not sure where the mixup happened, but somehow everyone thinks it's me. Perhaps we should have some sort of tawdry affair, since everyone seems to think we are anyway. Might as well got something out of it.'  
'I can't believe she's into women. I always thought..'  
'That her marriage to Remus was strange and suspect and that they didn't seem to like each other very much? Come on, Ron! They're both as gay as a pair of rainbows on legs. At least they've both admitted as much now.'

Glancing at her watch she discovered the time had run quite later than she expected, and she burst forth to the apparition point 'Oh shit! I'm late to meet Luna and Harry! I'll see you later, Ron!' before disappearing.


	11. Interlude

**Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling. **

**A/N: Holy buckets, this nearly killed me. And it isn't the most interesting thing in the world, either, although I think it is necessary with some background information. I'm not that happy with this, however... I cannot, CANNOT, keep writing it. Any suggested improvements would be extremely welcome here. Without more ado, here is the chapter:  
**

**Interlude: Contextualized**

'_The terror caused by this new breakaway organization, the Death Eaters, appears to have had some blood purity-related motivation, although it also seems likely they were simply a gang of socially higher-up teenagers being pressured into a life of service for Lord Voldemort who simply intended to wreak havoc before disposing of them all. It seems clear now that Lord Voldemort never intended to fulfil any of his political promises to his followers and that likely, none of them were meant to survive the final stages of his ascendancy to power. The War Criminal Hearings in 1999 certainly revealed a brilliant campaign of Imperius and extortion as the usual method of drawing new members, as much as any lofty political promises.'_

_ Griselda Twiddleberk, 'Madman at the Door', Foreword_

**_All excerpts taken from 'Madman at the Door' by Griselda Twiddleberk_**

_ 'Slytherin is the Dark Wizard famed in Britain for co-founding Hogwarts and famed outside Britain as one of the fathers of wizarding isolationism and his unfortunate mental deterioration in his later years leading to some very odd magic indeed. He is also the founder of the house in which young Riddle was sorted.  
Slytherin House has, since the Statute of Secrecy at the latest, been split into distinct groupings of isolationists and wizarding supremacists who share an interest in Dark Magic, rather than purely the Dark isolationists we can deduce mr. Slytherin intended.  
Tom Riddle utilizes his knowledge of his ancestry (and his ignorance of the politics thereof, as he himself is quite the supremacist, not unlike the Gaunt men from whom he descends) and discovers Slytherins' hidden chamber underneath the castle, and sets loose the Basilisk hidden within which kills a fellow student in 1943. _

_This course of events marks the creation of mr. Riddle's first Horcrux and, as many have remarked, his functional departure from being strictly human. He is only 16.'_

_..._

_October 31, 1981, Lestrange House, London England_

They both wake abruptly from the pain in their left arm. Rodolphus pulls back the sleeve of his tunic, exposing a red and irritated wound, but no Dark Mark. Bellatrix stares at it, then pulls up her own sleeve. Have they been summarily thrown out of their Lord's inner circle? Just like that? With their lives intact?

Something is wrong. The wound festers, oozes like acidic potion, and rapidly distorts and heals, leaving behind a faint trace of the Mark. It is still there. This isn't a punishment, a prelude to death. Their Lord has gone. Something is very wrong indeed.

_..._

_ 'In the Spring of 1945 Tom Riddle's aforementioned Transfiguration teacher, professor Dumbledore, duels and defeats Gellert Grindelwald, leaving the European continental wizarding communities to reconstruct. This reconstruction is echoed in the Muggle world, where a massive global war has also just ended, leaving large pockets of territory to be seized for wizarding communities. In Britain, the opportunity is taken to finally reclaim properties lost in the hasty retreat into obscurity following the Statute of Secrecy. Given the rather strenuous security efforts already in effect in Wizarding Britain both before and during the Muggle war, the magical community there suffers very few losses from that conflict. Young Tom Riddle, however, must certainly have noticed something going on given his home in a Muggle London orphanage, a place likely to have been evacuated during this time. Stories of the genocide of anyone the Muggles deemed 'different' would certainly have made an impression on him, not least as he knows himself to be both different and unpopular amongst his Muggle peers.' _

_..._

_ 'When mr. Riddle returns to Britain in the late 1950's he begins gathering a terrorist organization, recruiting primarily amongst his old school friends and the Knights of Walpurgis, an isolationist order devoted to protecting wizards from Muggle terrorism. Mr. Riddle tries again to secure a teaching post at Hogwarts and is once again rebuffed, although we can now say it is likely he only interviews for the post in order to hide a Horcrux in the school and to curse the post to which he applied, setting the scene for several generations of British wizards with sub-par defensive magic._

_ This is also the time when mr. Riddle begins to be exclusively known by his chosen name of Lord Voldemort. His Horcruxes number at least 2, though likely already 5, and his appearance has undergone a drastic transformation. He devotes himself to Dark Arts research and builds a reputation as a political leader in the Knights of Walpurgis, causing a deep rift that splinters the organization.'_

_..._

_1966, Hogsmeade, Scotland_

Bellatrix snorted into her butterbeer.

'Come on, Evan. You know as well as I do that it's a complete joke.'  
'Well, it isn't ideal, but what is? You'll see, darling Bella, when you're older.'  
'I will not. They've completely failed us as students and there's really no excuse for that. You've wasted years in DADA without ever learning more than a few shoddy jinxes. It's useless. I'm not just young, I'm bloody factually correct.'  
'I've learnt more from the Knights, it's true.'

Evan paused to look out the window, striking a very solemn pose.

'But you're right, Bellatrix. It's a dangerous world out there. Someone has to teach us to defend ourselves.'  
'Too right. I don't want to be caught helpless when the muggles find us, that's for certain.'

...

_ 'When a wealthy pureblood child whose family is in good standing in society becomes first Slytherin Prefect, later a successful businessman and then board member of the Governors of Hogwarts, one does not tend to expect them to be a likely terrorist. In fact, it is difficult to understand why someone with such ready access to state power would seek violent means of destroying that state. However, this is indeed the case of one mr. Lucius Malfoy.' _

_..._

'_Of course, the addition of such a political animal was very useful for Voldemort at this stage, as he was attempting to build up a network of spies to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, but Lucius Malfoy was never really in Voldemorts pocket. A man with his own ambitions, Lucius Malfoys handling of the precarious situation he found himself in turned ultimately deadly for Voldemort. Indeed, one might argue that Lucius Malfoy and the Black family were as instrumental in Voldemorts ultimate defeat as were Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore, however their intentions.'_

_..._

'_When Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black got engaged in 1973, the already sensitive situation became quite precarious for the Black family, which was already embroiled in its own internal intrigue.' _

...

_1996 Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire England_

'Mother left the country, Bellatrix. Do you not remember that?' Narcissa looked down at her sister.

Confusion bled into Bellatrix's features.

'I... I don't remember very much from... well, before.'  
'It doesn't matter. She has refused to see you.'

Bellatrix reacted the only way she reacted to anything those days. She screamed.

_..._

_ 'The Black family succession is recorded by a magical tapestry in the family headquarters in London. When Voldemort was gathering his army, there were only two direct families left, and they had the bare minimum of children: Cygnus and Druella Black had three daughters and Orion and Walburga Black had two sons. Orion and Walburga occupied the family headquarters with Pollux Black, Walburgas' father and previous head of the family and their remaining son.' _

_..._

'_When the engagement was announced in 1973, Mr. Malfoy was already suspected of being involved in quite some nasty business, and of his guilt or innocence, Narcissa Black refused to speak. There went the political hopes of the youngest daughter, set firmly on a rather risky bet, although not one the Black family altogether disapproved of, had it not been for the rest of the situation.  
_

_Whilst Narcissa was now engaged to suspected Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, Andromeda had run off not long after graduation from Hogwarts to marry muggleborn Ted Tonks in 1971, giving birth to a daughter in 1972. Andromeda was thus out of the family as well as the succession.  
The eldest daughter of the House of Black had married childhood friend and possible second-generation Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange shortly thereafter, and while perfectly respectable, her situation was a political dead-end as well._

_Sirius Black, the heir apparent, had been a Gryffindor, an all-round rebel, and had run away from home at age 15 and promptly joined Albus Dumbledore's guerilla group, the Order of the Phoenix. He was already out of the succession and the family.  
The last male heir, Regulus, went ahead and joined the Death Eaters in an apparent attempt at restoring the family name, a rather bizarre misstep. _

_When the sons of the House of Black both went in the wrong direction, Orion barricaded the house, made it Unplottable, and he and his wife Walburga went into hiding. The Dark Magic in the house eventually overtook them, and they both died rather prematurely, but not before getting word that their son Regulus was dead, likely at the hands of the organization he had joined. There goes the last heir, leaving only Bellatrix and Narcissa as possible heirs, should Sirius never return to the fold._

_To anyone outside the Black family, the situation might not look so dire, but to anyone inside it? They were supposed to be the most staunchly isolationist family in the wizarding world, and not one of the children had followed the family line, except one. _

_However, now that the apparent heir was Bellatrix Lestrange, her situation was really quite suspicious when looked at more closely.  
Bellatrix's mother, Druella Black, was born Druella Rosier. The Rosier family had also lost a son to the Death Eater movement, likely persuaded to avenge the defeat of Grindelwald, then being locked in. His name was Evan Rosier, and he had been a good friend to eldest daughter Bellatrix. Rodolphus's brother Rabastan was an openly sympathetic supremacist, and their father had certainly run with Voldemort in school (a boy Orion, Cygnus, Druella and Walburga all remembered from their time in school with Tom Riddle even if few others did). Things were not looking good, however much Bellatrix and Rodolphus seemingly distanced themselves from any active political involvement at this time. Then Lucius Malfoy was exposed as a certain Death Eater right around the time Narcissa announced her pregnancy in 1979, clinching the succession in favour of the Lestranges either way. _

_Then, of course, came 1981, changing everything._

_When Walburga Black died in 1985, the House of Black stood empty.'_

_..._

_June 1998_

'It isn't... well, it isn't going to work, is it?'  
'N-no, Ron. I don't think so.'

They both stared at their knees, letting the tension tighten and loosen on its own.

'Can't we just... not try so hard to make it that, then?'  
'Just let it be whatever it is, you mean?'  
'Yeah...' he looked distinctly sheepish.

Relief washed over her.

'We could be just friends again, but, you know, friends who get... carried away sometimes.' He looked somewhat stricken he'd even said it, and hastened to add, 'If you want.'

She laughed.

'I'd love to be friends and get carried away sometimes, Ron. People shouldn't get married just because it's expected.'

_..._

_ 'In the autumn of 1991, Lord Voldemort returned to Hogwarts, whilst Harry Potter began his schooling there. Since Voldemort had hidden at least one Horcrux in the castle, and another was now returning to that building, when he himself entered the castle, body or no body, Hogwarts contained a fairly large concentration of Voldemorts soul. The new proximity of Voldemort caused a lot of activity in the Horcruxes, but only one person had enough information to truly notice this. Former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy noticed a certain diary in his possession starting to draw his attention. He started noticing his Dark Mark reacting to proximity with said diary. He became,to put it mildly, very interested in any changes in wizarding Britain, especially as it concerned Harry Potter.'_

_..._

_ 'The explanations Headmaster Dumbledore gave the Board of Governors at the end of the year regarding the odd death of Professor Quirrel, the security breaches around the Philosopher's Stone in the school's possession, and the odd intuition of 11-year old Harry Potter to have gone after Quirrel, who was presumably trying to steal the Stone... well, Lucius Malfoy drew his own conclusions.' _

_...  
_

_ 'He made his deliberations with his wife. He was overheard by their abused house-elf, Dobby, who tried to warn and protect Harry Potter over the next several years until his death in 1997. It is clear now that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy did not want to return to their Death Eater days, wherever their politics lay, but saw little choice if their Dark Lord returned. As such, they devised a plan to hedge their bets. Taking the opportunity as soon as it presented itself, they sent the diary off with an innocent bystander, 11-year old Ginny Weasley, and fortified their political ties with the Ministry. Should Voldemort return, the diary could be passed off as an attempt to bring him back faster, they reasoned, and if he never returned they'd just rid themselves of burdensome evidence. Of course, they didn't truly know what the diary was.' _

_..._

_ 'Little Ginny Weasley was a lonely, sheltered child who was taken in by the diary frightfully easily. She opened the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherins ancient lair underneath the castle where he had stashed, of all possible weapons against enemies to the school, a Basilisk. Harry Potter got in to the Chamber and killed the Basilisk, saving Ginny Weasleys life and Professor Dumbledore's career. _

_Lucius Malfoy had, if nothing else, succeeded in ridding himself of his last vestige of Death Eater-dom which the Ministry of Magic could discover. Over the next two years he crafted a careful political image, played up his supremacist leanings, and generally set himself up so as to not be completely discounted once Voldemort returned. It was a brilliant move: obviously Death Eater, obviously not Death Eater. Bet firmly hedged, indeed.'_

_..._

_'All signs pointed increasingly to a return. While Dumbledore spent the next years setting himself up friendly with anyone he suspected could be convinced to follow his orders, the situation became increasingly uncomfortable for all involved._

_ Voldemort secured a rather extraordinary feat in his magical arsenal in June 1995 when he created a new body. Most of the credit must of course be given to his servant, Peter Pettigrew, who actually did most of the magic. Peter Pettigrew was a turncoat who was lured into the Death Eater organization without any political goals, and he spent the rest of his life paying rather steeply for that mistake. Never considered a true Death Eater, but with no way to return to the other side. Forgiveness, in the end, seemed a stronger force within the Death Eaters than the Order of the Phoenix.' _

_..._

_ 'The biggest mysteries of the inner workings of the Death Eater organization still lies with Bellatrix Lestrange, who has not been capable or willing to offer much testimony or evidence post-war. She undoubtedly knows more than most, being the most senior Death Eater to survive the conflict.'_


End file.
